Around and around I go, from thought to feeling to action. I repeat it again and again.
I call this “life” – from thought to feeling to action. Actually I’d say that “life” was one of the things it’s missing.
It’s habitual. It’s robotic. It’s a disintegrating experience.
OK, everyone. Stop the world. I want to get off.
Stop the merry-go-round of thought and feeling and action.
Quiet, everyone. All you voices inside me? Quiet please.
How opportune a time.
What is present when there is neither thought nor feeling nor action?
World upon world is consumed. All disintegrates.
All that remains is … me.