I get the dangerously mistaken impression that I know what my inner work is.
There is a difference between interpretation and inhabitation. Generally, because I always use my thinking to try and understand, I am interpreting. Yet what would be far more helpful to my inner work is to inhabit, which means to live within, not to apply a form to.
I am just here. Everything is simpler. There are a lot of questions, but they are attached to what is happening now, and I can see that I don't ever really know what is happening now. I can be with myself now; but I can't know what now is. I can be still, because in the face of this unknowing, the need for agitated adjustments of one kind or another falls off. It becomes apparent that I can't adjust anything.
But I can be here.
So she understood quite well — and left as her gift to us — an understanding that the inner work must be a flexible one that changes constantly in response to its surroundings.