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                           when I
                           really look
            at what has been in my skin all of the day and all of the night
                           do I have something then
                                          to write about

                           when I attend to all that is happening in me even
                                                      the boredom
                                          even the pointlessness
                                          even the ‘but-I-just-don’t-want-to’
            even the ‘I-can’t-do-this’ the ‘I’d-be-better-writing, I’d-rather-be-reading’
                                                              only then
                                                      only then
                                          am I meditating

                           even though it is uncomfortable
                                          it is unfulfilling
                           it is unfamous
            it is unsalvific but
                           nothing happens unless I face them all
                                                              unless I
                                                              to them





awareness wormhole: 3:30 am
being & identity & pointlessness & talking to myself wormhole: Child of Illusion
compassion wormhole: again
meditation wormhole: adversely / mistaking the finger for the moon / again
reading wormhole: good / enough
voices wormhole: the library, / you know …
writing wormhole: fly