the smell of wet soil after rain.
a sharp pain in the knee.
the thought 'i need milk' appears.
the sound of a particular laugh.
sunlight on a wooden floor.
the texture of a wool sweater.
a sudden, nameless fear in the chest.
the image of a forgotten face.
words forming on a page.

these perishable flashes appear in awareness.
the thought 'i' claims ownership.
'my knee hurts'.
'i remember that laugh'.
'that was my fear'.
a story is threaded through these moments.
a continuous self is invented to hold them.
the dream of a person is constructed from these passing shadows.

i am.
this is the point of rest.

a name comes to mind.
it is a sound.
a thought of what is next appears.
it is a whisper that fades.

the stories drift like smoke.
the history of this body is a telling without a teller.

there is breathing.
there is the feeling of the floor underfoot.
there is seeing.

the effort fell away on its own.
the question answered itself by vanishing.

this simple awareness is.
this presence.
this.