"Sitting in a monastery is a pretty lonely thing to be doing on a nice day." Monk Ki sighed. His knees hurt. His back hurt. His stomach rumbled.
He tries to watch the thoughts rise and let them go. They are stuck.
Outside the world tilts and whirls at a thousand iterations per second. Birds fly, leaves swirl,wind gusts, and temperatures fluctuate. Other people inflate and deflate their importance without breathing slowly.
"What am I doing?"
And the answer pops to the surface. "Sitting."
"What would I rather be doing?"
Another thought, "Anything."
"But I'm already doing something else. I'm sitting."
And a bird sings an autumn melody.