Some traditions say
the mind is not a cage of worries
nor a maze of unfinished thoughts
but a sky.
Wide.
Unbroken.
Primordial in its clarity.

If this is true,
then perhaps our thoughts are only clouds
visitors, not tenants.
They gather, they drift, they dissolve
by their own nature.
No cloud has ever stained the sky.
No passing storm has ever owned it.

Yet how quickly we forget.
How tightly we cling to the weather
as though it were who we are.
A sudden fear becomes thunder.
An old memory, a low grey ceiling.
A hope, a burst of sunrise.
And we start believing
that we are the clouds.

But sit quietly for a moment.
Feel the breath like a soft wind
moving through the inner horizon.
Notice the way a thought appears
uninvited, unforced
and the way it slips away
when you stop chasing its shape.

What remains, always,
is the open sky.
Untouched.
Patient.
Luminous in its spaciousness.

This is the essence the old teachers spoke of:
that beneath the ever-changing weather
there is something steady
and beautifully vast.
A place where clarity lives,
where peace is not constructed
but remembered.

And when you return to that inner expanse,
even for a breath,
you realise
you are not the storm.
You are the sky.

Thank you for reading, I appreciate your comments about what you like about this reflection and how this resonates. Many Blessings to You!