On the way home from retreat…part of me is clinging so tightly to what I fear may be left behind my fingernails are bloody.
The best part of walking in the woods is being there.
If something occurs so often that we fail to even notice, can it not still be miraculous?
Cottonwood leaves are waving…all is well – do you see us? – do you notice us? – can you hear us? – you are always welcome here.
Next to my existence, perhaps your greatest gift to me is my not knowing…what the future holds…