I touch the stone and see my thoughts from some distance; close enough to see them but far enough to know that they are not all of me. I feel them like touching; they are jagged, sweet, or unpleasant, deeper; they are hateful, greedy, deluded, but the whos and whats and wheres I can let go of; I can let go of the story. There is no story with the stone.
Acceptance is like that; the end of a story. I watch struggle with stories arise. I have spent a long time there, it is familiar. To let go of stories is to be nowhere for a little while. That place becomes more comfortable over time, stronger.
What is nowhere after nowhere is free from being defined as a bad place? It feels neutral, balanced, equal, fresh, like snow.
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