Day Two Hundred and Sixty

Touching the stone. I find myself alone. I look at loneliness. I notice fear of the unknown, the fear that I could feel lonely forever. Metta sails alongside loneliness and they both run out to the deepest water.

I touch the stone and all is less abstract. I have fear, I have the feeling of touching. I concentrate on touching. Neutral moves to pleasant and time and space reckon in my hand. I steer toward a port of my own making, in a sea of every manifestation.