it's not about forcing the current to smooth out, is it? it’s more like watching the river churn, knowing the river is still there, still moving, even when the surface is all choppy foam. the breath just keeps going, a steady pulse in my wrists, even when the mind is trying to wrestle an answer from the air. and that old trying, that wrestling, it used to exhaust me, leave me hollowed out, but now it’s just… a passing cloud, a shadow that sweeps over the red rock for a moment, then gone, leaving the light just as bright behind it. like that ache for perfection that used to cling, the one that makes you grip the ceramic too tight, it just loosens now, on its own. the feeling that nothing needs to be fixed keeps finding its way deeper, like a root seeking water through stone, a slow, patient knowing.