I move, and it is there. I move, and it is there.
I move, and it is there.
Everywhere is movement, and all is being. Thoughts bubble up to the surface then disappear into itself, like countless vegetables bobbing in and out of sight as the soup gently boils.
The sensation in the brain is very sharp and biting this evening. Sometimes it hits like a frozen icepick, and it is all the proof one has that some kind of head exists.
Listening to the voice on the stereo, the mind gently vibrates as the words come and go. The words are understood, but they do not stick.
Listening happens, and the brain throbs in concert with what is heard.
It is not enough to hear. Listen!
Listen to the birds, the wind, your feet on the pavement. Be with it, in every moment, right to the very core of being. Walk until you lose yourself.