It’s incredible how mind has this stubborn habit to narrow life down to the story in time of a small part of itself and yet pulls the rug from right under the story often enough, to keep breaking the story. How fortunate that after maybe a million retries on making the story, finally the mind stops….and what seems like even for an infinitesimal moment, there is nothing to grasp or look to the future or past for….a moment of pristine nothing ness….saying nothing at all….not leaving a trace in memory…almost as if outside of what can be remembered at all….too small and maybe too mighty and too made of nothingness…..how joyous that we can stop….and even talk about that which we can never experience as such…