I woke up this morning with a heaviness in my head — a kind of left‑over my brain hadn’t finished processing.

I stepped outside into my backyard and reached my hand toward the blue sky, wondering about the space between me and… whatever is out there. Something I cannot imagine, yet something that feels alive.

There is nothing there, and yet there is something — a quiet energy between me and the vastness above.

As I stand there, the heaviness begins to evaporate, melt, and lift.

When I think of something melting away, I remember 軟酥（なんそ）の法 from 夜船閑話 by 白隠禅師 — the practice of softening, dissolving, returning.

I ground my energy down through my belly, letting it settle into the earth, and release whatever remains back into the universe.