Sometimes the center of the hand burns, suddenly a field for the heat. I find it. Realize my life. If I am the body, its feelings, not the thoughts about the body and its feelings, there is also the feeling that comes not after but in search of, that leads me toward. Is that also my life before I move into it? If in the middle of a storm I throw open hands and find an absence of storm, am I present in the world? If I step back to search for an expression of the world, and what I find instead is a burning field in my hand, what do I express? The quiet room either asks or marries my asking.
