I notice a slight impurity within myself.
Or perhaps it should be called arrogance.
That impurity clouds the water.
Yet the attempt to remove it can itself become another impurity.
This is difficult.
And even saying this is difficult can also become an impurity.
At this point escaping the loop becomes hard.
This second difficult is also part of the material.
Am I writing?
It feels as if I am only watching something appear while my fingers press the keys.
If this were paper and pen I might feel more clearly that I am writing due to the physical distance involved.
That sensation has become rare for me.
I turn my attention to my breath.
I sense again that it is simply happening.
I find myself hoping that this act of writing might be the same.
But for now this is enough.
Impurity is fine as it is.