Wednesday, July 29, 2009

First Person.

Joy is seductive. Imagine always living in technicolor, swinging around lamp posts, stomping in puddles, jumping into piles of just-raked crackling aromatic leaves, feeling the presence of each microbe, bacterium, cell, parasite, organ, system as the body charts its daily schedule, interacts with every surface, feels every breeze, exists as one part of the continuum of reality, alive.
Imagine the first bite of chocolate mousse, the tang of hot cider after a winter walk, the smell of the paper of a new book, the feel of clean sheets, the satisfying crackle of a fountain pen on hot pressed paper, the soft spot just behind a cat's ears, walking unexpectedly past a rose bush in full bloom at dusk.

Pema Chodron, "The Places that Scare You," a book which I would like to hand out to everyone I know and love

this much rain has not fallen over a summer since that which I spent in Edinburgh, the summer that laundry never dried, endless pots of tea were steeped, and I purchased the umbrella that still serves today