Observing wanting to be elsewhere. There are myriad forms of it; I'm pulled to all different parts of the body, to the affairs of the day, to a kind of restlessness, boredom; why would I want to be with boredom? It is like a platform, a place to rest.
Antagonistic towards the various kinds of touching of the stone; is it on too many fingers, should I tap it, let it rest on my hand, and so on, even though I have found peace with it many times, I forget what that feels like. Each meditation has to start anew, and some are so much more tangled. Is this just another object of comfort I am pulled to?
Thankfully not, the stone is often neutral but rarely something I have to run back to. And yet, from the perspective of a refuge, insofar as it represents the practice of the Buddha (as much as I know it), an aspect of Dharma (each and every lesson that proceeds from real experience with it), and of Sangha, at least in the recollection that I still myself in the way of other fellow practitioners and so that I might cultivate stronger compassion, stronger concentration, an end to comfort.
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