I touch the stone and wonder where my attention has been all day. It has been lost to the mind's games of making time and space where there are none. I had a headache and made stories about how it would go away or not, distance between reality and perception. I talked with people and remembered the past, instead of being in the moment.
Where am I now? I am full of the desire to be done, to move on, to do something else. So it has always been, me and my deep dissatisfaction with the present moment. But this is my dissatisfaction with reality, with emptiness. It is the black brush with which I paint letting go of space, it is the sullen cloak in which I wrap the fear of stopping time. In the end, only my perspective is up to me.
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