I know that I am defined by my attachment to things, my contraction around them. I mostly just want to be somewhere else. I will not be a bad person, I cannot stand them, I cannot stand it in myself, I must therefore stay good at all times. I have bound up some sorrow in this.
I stand still and lose myself. It feels dangerous and then sad; it wrings me like a dishtowel. I am infused with being ok just as I am. I am accepted when I lose my definition, my contraction. It is the practice of acceptance, in real time. The touch of the stone is neutral and then very pleasant. Pulses of touching give way to multiple and various feelings; those of fingers alone, of finger and stone, of bone, temperature and pressure. My mind struggles to make contrasts, to define itself; it pulls away from the stone; it tells me the stone is not specific enough to concentrate on. I watch that tendency. The stone is specific; it is touching; the touching does have component parts. The component parts may also have many parts, but the primary components are the stone and my hand, still. The consciousness about the stone is a little 'I'.
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