Day Two Hundred and Sixty three

Looking for concentration and noticing distractions. Noticing how trying to get away from a stream of thoughts, or loud noises, or body aches creates more noise. The quick painting by aversion of some peaceful and pleasant place that is not here creates a body response, a biological coiling to jump towards something else or away from the irritation. Not finding such a place creates frantic looking, most of it brought up into the mind for processing.

I do so much processing that I remember little. I've long wanted to experiment on my ability to remember the events of a single day. I'm pretty sure I did that when I was little. I hardly see my stories anymore, hardly notice the painter of what is not, and yet, there is some room to do so. It is the presence of the heart, which has never gone anywhere, although I have traveled far, weaving illusion.