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Undistorted, Radical Clarity's avatar

There’s a quiet paradox here that I really appreciate — how the presence you’re describing isn’t pristine or perfectly still, but threaded through interruptions, baby fingernails, tea gone cold, and Ram Dass being paused mid-thought. And yet, somehow, it’s more real because of that.

What you’re articulating isn’t just presence — it’s integration. The kind that doesn’t require silence to access stillness or spiritual conditions to touch something true. It’s the kind of presence that includes the crying, the laundry, the breast pads, and still opens up the mystery: how the hell did I create that?

This feels like the real practice: not detaching from the moment, but living inside it without needing it to be different. You’ve captured that beautifully.

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