When you feel like there is a lot of head room. When your head is filled with vast spaciousness. When the sky is a reminder that life might actually be more free flowing than we think.
Now, thoughts can fuck that up sometimes... Can we, maybe, see thoughts as passing birds in the sky? Birds that sing their songs and leave, and come back, and leave again.
Is it possible that we might be, kind of, like the vast sky? Allowing birds, clouds, rain, storms, night, day, to come and go.
Maybe, just maybe, if we pull our heads out of our asses a little more often, we might come to the realization that we are not simply our clustered little stories, but are actually what allows all of them to exist. Just a thought (in the sky).
Thank you for reading | Merci de m'avoir lu
Alexandre
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