Contemplative fieldnotes: Lying in bed, about to go to that land where all I see is a lake of soul custard, sometimes I just let attention drift down into my gut and ask: “Is there anything that needs to be felt, seen, known?” See what happens, dissolve tension, wake, rest.
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Can't take any credit. Must've earned a lot of merit in my past lives, trying not to squander it all now
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on my face.