Day Two Hundred and Forty five

I notice my craving to be elsewhere, have more, not have certain things. I notice the call of sleep distract me from meditation. It is not sleepiness but my relationship to it that causes me to be somewhere else. It is not having less or not having the things I want that is the problem; or should I say it is never the things, never even my current state of disease, it is only the craving that, like a crevasse, allows me to consider this state unsatisfactory and then jump to the conclusion that some fantasy will be better.

Perhaps we know deep down that all things are not marked with favor, but we hold to the presumed history that we have become, and instead of letting this flaw be the epilogue of our narrative, we write and write more of ourselves.