Close your eyes gently. Let your breath move in and out without effort. There is nothing to push away, and nothing to hold onto. Just be here, in this moment, with yourself. Let the body be still. Let the breath be quiet. Let the mind be what it is.

Begin to imagine your awareness as a wide, open sky—vast, still, untouched by what moves through it. Into this space, a thought arises. Not because you asked for it. Not because you failed to prevent it. But because that is what the mind does. It produces thought. It moves like weather.

Perhaps it’s a memory. A plan. A worry. A sentence with no clear beginning. Whatever it is, you notice it. And then, without reaching for it, without following it, you simply let it move. You watch it, the way you might watch a single cloud drift slowly across the sky—changing shape as it goes, sometimes fading, sometimes growing, always moving on. It doesn’t need to be held in place. You don’t need to name it, capture it, or decide what it means. Just like the cloud, the thought was not summoned, and it doesn’t require your approval to pass. It simply moves because that’s what thoughts do. You might feel its pull—the familiar reflex to follow it, to wrap your attention around it, to let it lead you into story or memory or worry. But here, now, you’re practicing something else. You’re practicing non-interference. Letting it appear without chasing. Letting it go without clinging. You are not erasing it. You are simply not becoming it.

The cloud drifts on. You don’t push it. You don’t hold it back. You remain where you are, unchanged by its path. It may return in a different form, as thoughts often do. You see it. You allow it. And you let it keep moving. This is not indifference. This is freedom. The freedom to witness without absorbing, to experience without reacting, to know the mind without becoming entangled in every movement it makes.

If you find yourself following a thought, getting pulled into its gravity, that’s okay. Just notice. And return. You are not trying to be empty. You are practicing presence. Stillness. Spaciousness.

Rest here a little longer. Let your thoughts move like clouds. Let your awareness remain clear and quiet beneath them. Let the sky hold it all.

You don’t have to fight that thought. You don’t have to explain it. You just have to see it for what it is: a temporary formation in the space of your mind. Not a command. Not a truth. Just a thought.

And just like the clouds, it doesn’t stay. It passes. Another may follow. You observe that one too. This one’s heavier, perhaps. Or brighter. Faster. Slower. Still, you don’t react. You let it come, and you let it go.

This is the practice—not clearing the sky, but not mistaking every cloud for the sky itself. You are not what you think. You are the space that holds the thinking. A wider, quieter space.

So you sit, and you watch. Thought arises. Thought dissolves. The sky remains open. The breath remains steady. Nothing needs to be controlled. Everything is allowed to pass—just like clouds drifting across a vast sky, never staying, never asking to be held, only moving on through the space that holds them without effort.

And when you’re ready, return slowly. Back to the room. Back to the breath. But keep the sense of space with you. Remember: thoughts will come. They always do. But you don’t have to follow every one. You can watch. You can let them pass.

Be gentle with your mind. It is only doing what it knows. And you, my friend, are learning to listen without clinging, to see without absorbing. Take care. And I hope we meet again soon.