Day Two Hundred and Thirty nine

The stone feels comfortable tonight, but I realize how much of whatever the stone feels like is due to my past. It feels comfortable because I have come to be in a pleasant mood; it has a weight and smoothness relative to my history of being with it and weighing it against all else I have known that is like and unlike it. What is it's feeling without all that history.

As I look, it becomes less and less of something of mine, and yet I hold it in my hand, and so it is very close; perhaps the only thing I touch that I am moving toward not owning. As such it takes on strange characteristics, it is a beacon of information, some kind of relay to a world beyond this ragged fiefdom of my own making.

I realize, to be a suitable object of concentration requires a struggle with and letting go of, my idea of relationship. And yet, even all that is just the stone's characteristics. Beyond that, it is a single touchpoint, much like any other. This is what I have, single touchpoints, never more than one at a time, each a doorway to greater understanding, to realization, if only in their declaration of presence.