On a road which is ours, upon which we cede to others, their right to pass and yet, upon which, the mud turns to slush in the rain, and deep gashes open to enfold and grasp the giant wheels of overladen trucks, it’s best to prepare a hardiness that’s ready for the passage, no matter the passing load, whatever the weather.

It’s what we must do with our own mind, if the weight of passing thoughts, is not to stay and grow heavier still, caught in the unprepared soil, of a mind, yet to learn the art, of letting go.

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