The thing about life is that it is--what's the right word--oddly ideal.  Appropriate.   Events in life bear a match to the soul of the individual.

In this regard, at least, all people, have an intelligence, equal.  It is not always easy to see this.

And for such reasons, the narratives arts, just so, are rewarding.  In and of their own reasons.  You can at least, perhaps without even knowing it, ask the right questions.  No one will tell you whether you are doing so or not;  on this you are alone, unless I suppose you consider the best of analysts of the psychological realm, or the better sources, original, of the spiritual wisdom that has trickled down so for to the species in the last, oh, 10,000 years, perhaps, who is counting but your own little mind anyway.  A freak just like the rest of them.

Who is to say who is wiser, the chef, the bus driver, the old construction guy you talked to yesterday?  Your own conscious mind, the part you have to meditate over to clear, who can call you bad names, grifter, wino, bum, sinner, man-without-a-plan, even if no one else does.   What are you doing with yourself, anyway, you constantly ask yourself.  And any break in life's labors, in a job, invite the other voices to come over you, and it's bad enough anyway, I suppose, for those who drift, artistically minded, believing in the deeper pervasive wisdom of the Universe and God that runs through everything, but which is by nature undefinable...

The weather changes.  One needs to get out for a walk.




First day of Spring.  All of a sudden, it's getting warmer.  I'm doing laundry, preparing for the trip to see my old mom for her birthday, coming up Monday, today is Thursday.  I step out on the little patio to get some sunlight and check on the weather.  It is indeed different out, the little trees budding out their leaf, and while the sky is opaque, there is light in it.

Looking up at the old Elm tree by the sidewalk in front of the steps, I see a Blackhawk helicopter, pushing its way westward, upstream.  You see it flying with its nose down, tail slightly up, and side doors open, I think, but it strikes me as looking like a glum bird, depressed by its automaton drill or mission.  Yeah, what can you do...  Crazy times, uncertain times.  What will happen to all my stuff, and to me, even.  I look at jobs, create a resume on one of those on-line sites, Indeed, but who am I trying to offer myself to, to sell my credentials to anyway?  The Amazon job, the Whole Foods personal shopper?  Safeway?

It occurs to me I like those who work in grocery stores.  Maybe that's a job.  But I have to go see my mom first.  Whether technically a good idea or not, it seems good, spiritually.



So I put on sweatpants, sweatshirt, head down to the bluff while the sun is up still.  And again with the yoga, no mat, bare feet on the grass.  The slow intimate stretches, each with their drama, commence with patience and the slowest of moment. The sun is the, above the gray forested ridge one cannot see beyond, and still bare, faint brushstrokes of wispy minimalist buds.  Beyond the pond-green river’s flat surface I can make out people using the trails.  Honeysuckle.  Mountain pose, sun salutation, easy Wai Lana yoga, shoulders spreading, reaching...  Plow, headstand, pigeon again, headstand and then pulling myself into a full lotus I’m able to hold and chakras aligning with each breath.  I note that the hillock I’m on is almost even with the banks of the reservoir to the west.   John F. Kennedy enjoyed the view downstream on the other side of the great river.

There is a heightened sense of the three-dimensionality of the natural world, the trees closer, the ones further, and all in fresh vividness.  The ground is somewhat muddy in spots.  I smell again the wild garlic shoots, and observe from up close the variety of ground cover, from soft rosemary seaweed like shoots, the great varieties of clover-like things and all the grasses.

I think of Jack Kerouac, his elusive moments of elusive epiphanies, and he, the old star athlete, who could still run at a very good clip, even his later years of too many bats, he would have gotten all of yoga, as he got the headstand and how good it was for body and for mind and spirit too.