I have now re-read this and most of the comments and some of the many, many comments at GOS and the counter-diary at GOS and some of the comments. Inhale. Exhale. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
It was 90 degrees in New York today. The sun was out. Daffodils are open here. Tulips are coming. It looks like the bees may be returning. You can smell mother earth, pachamana, santa madre tierra. You can smell her as she carries us on her belly. Inhale. Exhale. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
When I turn off the computer, push the keyboard under the desk, and stand up, I can almost touch the ceiling in this old room. The ceiling is low. This room has been here since 1841. It originally belonged to the Petersons and the Nileses, who were dairy and wool farmers. Now it belongs to me. It deserves to be taken care of. I don’t think I do that enough. Inhale. Exhale. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
I am happy to have this electronic community. I am happy to have this group blog. I am happy that I don’t own or administer or have any obligations to stay or fix it or change it. I am happy to be here just because I want to be here. If I write an essay, it’s because I want to tell you something. If I leave, I will not write a GBCW essay. Ommmmmmm. Inhale. Exhale. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
I am filled with gratitude for a million small things. Some are matter, others are not. I could write them all down if I had time, but I prefer just to go from thanks to thanks, from thought to thought, like a bee crawling into a daffodil. Inhale. Exhale. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the world. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by its cruelty and ugliness. Sometimes I am concerned that we don’t see things that we should. I write about these things and I post them here. And at my blog. And elsewhere. I want you to read what I write. Inhale. Exhale. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. May you all be happy. May you all be free from suffering. May you all be safe. May you all be well. May you all realize your enlightenment.