What is that huge issue weighing you down, making your heart heavy? The mountain obstructing the sun's rays from your face? Keeping you forever in shadow, awash only in doubt as you curl up in terror? The most horrible, painful, unsolvable, rock-solid thing. . . the form that is so well established, so certain. . . I can show you the hardest form is merely an imaginary matrix that is only as solid as swirling water vapor. Like a thunderhead rocking the earth with the fury of the storm and minutes later dissipating into emptiness again. Have I ever been born? Ever lived? Ever died? Are there really any colors or shapes or thoughts? Who are these other souls wandering around in the dark, smiling, crying, laughing? Is this pain and fear real? What happens when I simply allow the release and the emptiness that follows? Why have I invested so much in this form I call reality? My sweat and tears. This process is grinding my bones into dust again and again, only to flow once more into the sea with the rush of muddy rivers.