I was once walking down a cobblestone street in that city of many names when it occurred to me. Nothing in particular, just that “it” was everything and nothing all at once, and I, I was in the middle of… it. You may think it’s crazy, this nonsensical musing that I write, but alas it’s true. It happens amidst that magical moment between day and night, when the air sits between cool and warm, and the wind of a windless day is supplied by your own exhale. What is this stillness? This absence of being? A gift of time.