Nobody's asking me for a diary, but I'm enjoying this. Yesterday, in conversation with a friend at the Rockefeller Archives, a project I'd put aside some twenty years ago leaped back into life, and I had a chance to reflect on the odd twists of kharma. I say "reflect," but that suggests an insight, something profound. No, just the same old same old: things come and go, and once in the while some unhatched egg stirs and there's the chipping beak and then the peep peep. Now I can only wait to see if a chicken is to follow.
Now that I'm beginning to grow up at the age of 80, I find that I have a gift of gratitude that often enough shapes my days. No point listing all that I have to be grateful for including family, which I didn't properly value in the past. And also the grace of awakening each morning with the feeling that I can help make the day interesting and loving.