This is the kind of story I might hear in Zen Baggage by Red Pine/Bill Porter as he travels around China inspecting Buddhist temples. I've got his last book on my shelf, ready to read after I finish the funny novel The Sellout by Paul Beatty.
My daughter has been sick and I woke up with a sore throat but that can go away during the day, but my nose is running a little bit. Nobody likes being sick, and nobody likes to feel it coming on.
43% waning moon is above my rupa, my statue of the Buddha that I meditate in front of, my shrine.
Last day of anapanasati. I'm so distracted. Not sure if I'm going deeper, so I'm noticing it more, or I'm more superficial so I'm not going as deep. Probably the latter.
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