A thought.
As I sit here in front of this screen, there is a world of possibilities between the floating, fleeting thoughts that wispily move through my mind and the movements of my aging hands that concretize these thoughts so crudely.
To navigate these mutable concepts can be likened to flying a kite. Where there are days the kite remains mostly flightless. No breeze to gently lift it, no amount of running will keep it suspended. There are days where a tempest thrashes at the kite, winding it uncontrollably through the sky with violent and unpredictable pulls in every direction.
Then there are days where the kite seems to just float on its own. Almost as though itโs alive. Where all the right conditions coalesce in to an effortless dance. Fluid, graceful and intuitive. An unobstructed, enjoyable moment of clarity.
It is in these moments that we seem to attain an enlightened state of creation. Where suddenly the string which once dug itself in to my hand with severing intention has now released its grasp as though it barely needs me at all.