There is a moment, just before you answer, when something older and faster than you reaches for the words - in the car park with the engine off, at the kitchen table at midnight, in the second before you press send. Usually, it wins.
This is a book about that moment, and a quiet discipline for meeting it more honestly. It asks you to believe nothing and to become no one. It simply walks beside you, through ordinary things - a kitchen, the rain, a dog asleep at your feet - until you notice you have been practising a way of seeing all along.
Written by a former police officer who had to relearn it in his own body after injury and stroke, it makes no promises. Only a way of remaining with what is real - and the slow recognition that what you were looking for was already here.