Again I am heavy and aching. I touch the stone and notice the many feelings of body that interrupt my meditation. I also notice the many things in the visual field, which seem especially sharp and tilted, sound which seems compressed, and a slight chemical taste. I know that each impression is made of much smaller impressions that I cannot see, each one point, one frame that adds up to the movie I make of my experience. Smaller dots make up a flow, each flow interweaves to make frame and then chapter and then title. Each movie runs along a course of history in a much larger movie. There are so many stories being made that I cannot see or feel at least on the surface.
I consider the feelings and stories as more craving, craving to get away much as I crave for pleasant things to stay around. I consider how my attachment to craving makes me really there, but really there with craving, with illusion, with what is not there. I put the distractions of my unsettled mind down in the gathering dark with my generally fragmented perception and I gain some distance to watch what is moving, and breathe silently.
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