This is suffering's lesson: pay attention. The important part might come in a form you do not recognize.

My existence shrank from an arrow of light pointing into the future forever to a speck of light that was the present moment. I got better at living in that point of light, making the world into that point. I paid close attention to it. I loved it very much.

Chair or no chair: a binary relation. But the vicissitudes of moving the body around are infinite. You never know what a person in a chair can do.

Look at me, dancing my little dance for a few moments against the background of eternity.

Experience in itself wasn’t enough. The diary was my defense against waking up at the end of my life and realizing I’d missed it.

If I'm not writing a thing, depression might be looming.

I see no reason not to write whatever comes to me.