Sometimes time is dead time; you have to wait and hope that it will pass
Dangerous thought – how good it would be to edit your life away, but how would that be good?
Once lost it doesn’t come back, whatever it might be
So this moment is of waiting and not exactly enough, or not moving forward to where you would like to be:
Is it really that different from all the other moments?
This body waits for the next thing – driven by this mind
This mind is what cares about forward and back
This mind judges and measures
This mind does not see its own nature
So what is waiting?
What is impatient?
What is hurting?
What is sad?
Does it have a colour, shape or presence anywhere?
Can you touch it? Except maybe indirectly?
Why does it want so much?
Why does it need anything?
The thing it needs is not there.
It is closed and also open
The warm train arrives – the moment dies