I know that my cure for the hiccoughs did not originate with me, but I can't remember where I got it. No matter, it works for me.
To cure the hiccoughs we first need to understand what they are. They are muscle spasms over which we seemingly have no control. The cure is to establish that control. How? Try to hiccough. Be the hiccoughs. In trying to hiccough we find the muscles which are out of control, and in being found, they relax of themselves.
Yes, there is a lesson here. To establish control over ourselves, there is no method more effective than to be ourselves. Have you ever been angry, momentarily and awarefully let yourself be that anger, only to end up with a good laugh at yourself? You stub your toe, kick the offending object and suddenly self-awareness happens; you laugh. Now it might be argued that the kick is "being the anger", but being rooted in a somewhat involuntary reactivity, it is just anger. We are the anger when we experience ourselves as angry and allow ourselves to be that anger. But when we have managed this, somehow the anger becomes transparently silly and fades away.
All this refers back to "no conditions to meet". When we lovingly and acceptingly embrace who we are, who we are becomes a transformative experience. Transformation is not war. No battle waged in its name is likely to be won. Peace is the path to peace.
"Lovingly and acceptingly embracing who we are" is an event which can only truly take place when we are free of the discriminating mind and the oppressively 'moral' universe it creates. Sweat, sweat release. You need not transform at all. So you can. So you do.
But we are not free of the discriminating mind. Lovingly and acceptingly embrace that. Approximate. Life is dynamic, unfixed, unformulaic; it does not resolve to absolutes; it unfolds, is and is not, succeeds in failure, fails in success. Approximate. What does this mean? Live.
And the 'ground' for this acceptance? If a ground is required, then it can be this: You are Dao. Not just somewhat. Not just the good bits. Not just your love. But also your hate. Not just your poetry, but also your stinky blowhole. Who needs this delusional, so-called moral sword that cuts the world in two? Give it up! All is well. You are well. Can't do it? It matters not. Approximate. Can't do that? Nothing is any different, in any case. Except for the experience of a temporal peace, of course.
You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.