Green is the color I see in the yard, but it is not the color of reality. Green is the glory of the instructions not to meditate. Touch is the coming together of stone and skin, but it is not the feel of reality. Stone is the place without struggle. Breath is the object of body meditation, but it is not the place of reality. Breath is the presence of the heart.
All sense touches without craving, even mind with history, fantasy. I could wait some while to be free of entanglements, but it is not a place to be.
There is only perspective, an everpresent now. Seeing clearly requires no extra senses, no aids, no new place. Reality lies between arrogance and fear.
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