Day Two Hundred and Forty one

I am wound up with the cares of the day, plans for the future, some allergies, tiredness. It actually feels wound, energy that cannot flow. I feel far from Dharma, apart, out of tune, blocked and less than capable. As usual, when I am most frustrated with being tired I am also restless and vice versa. Either state on its own seems like it would flow better.

The stone feels more like a small bomb than an object of concentration. I fear it will go off if I do not get myself right.

I stay here. There is no magic elsewhere at this moment, though there is no magic here. Ah, but wait... ecstasy rolls like a spool when I hold myself enough to let restlessness go on its way. I connect to concentration with the the string of me, which lays like a sweet spring fuse.