The stone is quiet at all times, in all places. Whevever I am touching it, only I have the noise, or only I am somewhere else. That must be the case with everything that touches any sense. The sound of a bell, the dart of a swallow, the waves of thought and the smell of coffee are all of the intensity that they truly are, none of them have any excess noise. And they are neither existent outside of experience nor are they only made of contact; they are something brand new.
When awareness is added, these things are notes in the quiet song of freedom.
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