The unwinding mind in me is like an untied balloon sailing around and around as the air rushes to escape out of it. The "I" I have thought I am has no traction, no control, no creative ability. All the years of straining and striving, praying and teeth-gnashing, has been no more than tail-chasing, resisting, temper-tantruming. And as I catch up to this truth, I am finding that more and more I can be with life in the moment as though it is a perfect, simple cup of tea.
There is nothing to add that can make it more or better than what it already is. Oh, I could drop in a skewered couple of green olives, if I were feeling manic enough, but I will never make it a martini. And there is nothing that can be subtracted from it either. I can't take out the heat or the wet or the color even if I wanted to, and since I can't, why worry about it.
But wait...what madness would want to change What Is?