In my mind the familiar, the unpleasant, come and go. I want to accept and let it be. Coming back to my breath in and out is familiar too. Maybe I don’t grasp the mood. Maybe I let it be. But in a moment I don’t pay attention. It builds, it shifts, it disappears. I catch my mind trying to figure it out. Because of this, because of that. Incessantly trying to solve the mood so that poof it will go away, be unraveled. For good. I hope.
What is the nature, the true nature, of these moods? Though familiar, I cannot know what created this mood in this moment. Sometimes there are triggers. Yes. But the Before is a cloud of dust. Memories held in my mind and body conditioned to respond to a trigger. Nothing is real about it, and yet everything about it is real. Both at the same time. And so is my breath. There for me to touch. Now.