I woke up in no particular mood, and I remained this way throughout the day, calm, almost atonal. And if I rushed nothing at all, thoughts and images were hurrying through my mind the whole time. As I was thinking about what someone had said, a fleeting feeling, or some parallel universe, I developed the strange sensation that my body’s only function was to accompany my brain, to carry it through the pace of the day and allow me to think and daydream and not bump into things. I am sure that if you’d chopped my head off it would have kept on walking, my body I mean. So the next day when I woke up feeling the same, in a detached frame of mind, I decided to give attention to the things that this body of mine would absorb during that day, not the sounds, or the scents, nor the sights, not for now, only the substances. I spent the morning inside, the afternoon out, and came back early at night walking through one of my favourite kinds of weather—grey, sometimes cloudy, still, no rain, no wind, not cold, no temper, very neutral.
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