In the mornings, I meditate in my bedroom—actually I meditate in my bedroom closet. There is just enough room on the floor between my dresses, blouses, and hiking boots, to roll out my yoga mat, sit cross-legged on my meditation pillow and close my eyes. This morning there was a dog. A real dog outside my window, not a dog in my imagination.
It’s the end of the year. I’m taking stock. It’s ten-thirty in the morning and I’m still in my sweats and a T-shirt. My hair is uncombed and yesterday’s lipstick is wearing thin. I’m sitting at my computer, typing, deleting, typing deleting.
I’m sorry if I’ve ever bent your ear about climate change. I’m sorry if I’ve consciously or unconsciously dismissed the important work that you are doing, thinking that you should turn your attention to climate change. I’m sorry if I’ve been arrogant, cavalier, pretentious or smug.
The Buddhists talk about beginner’s mind. Travelers take to the road and begin to see the most mundane things as a big adventure. New lovers move in slow motion and when they lift their heads it seems that everyone is smiling. Curiosity, wonder, and undoing make for fresh. Make for aliveness. Make for magic.