Each word points towards an open space - captured for a moment as a page. This is where our truth is found, not in what is told, but in the silence that is heard. Words are not reality, and yet they float as clouds within it. Always there belongs a clear sky, without thought and word, awake to itself, and aware of all that passes through its presence.
~
Tracks are not the reality of a runner - only evidence of form left behind. Our reality is always in the moment of step, breath, earth, and sky. There is no need to search for it. Simply run.
Peace,
Eric
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