Momentary Distraction

I note my train of thought during the morning meditation and feel the brush of a mountain breeze.  It's Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain again, moving along the trajectory of my chattering mind, in which Hans Castorp and his tubercular gang idyllically quarantine themselves in an Alpine sanitarium.  They tramp over paths overgrown with wild flowers during the daily constitutional.  Well-used alpenstocks and trickling vernal streams rise up.  The mountainside vibrates with the friends' philosophical meanderings on topics which would seem  outdated or even airy fairy nowadays.  I no longer remember the content of these endless discussions, but can easily summon up the gestalt of a world where together, their spirit can soar above the malady of the body.