刺戟除去

If there is one thing that must be done every Sunday, it is washing away stimulation.

And I frequently forget to do it.

In truth, stimulation might not even be necessary. For about one day out of seven. A serene day entirely void of stimulation. Slowly, I play the piano as my hands guide me. Pleasing sounds and unintended sounds are intermingled. It matters not at all. It is merely a process of washing away everything—both the good and the bad. Yet, I cannot stop working. Even though I must wash away the stimulation, my desire to quickly arrive at the place I want to reach prevents me. All day long, amid the computer, hunger, and silence, I left myself as if pushing myself forward.

My teacher tells me to let things flow like water. Not to harbor too many things, but to focus my mind on following what is very small and clear. Not to harbor a grand heart just to acquire too many things all at once. What contradictory words. There were so many who told me to embrace the vast world and to hold great ambitions, yet now I am told to embrace the small. Are they, too, false teachers? Or are they those who have already reached a life of abundance in a serene and tranquil place where there is no longer any need to achieve?

Longing seems to grow into a warmer shape during the winter.