Tellin' Mother Nature 'bout you and me

(The road we choose is always right)

Finally, sleep, almost seven hours worth of it; nearly God's number.

Speaking of gods, my Norton Anthology of World Religions awaits for me, perhaps to flip through later today or tomorrow. Man's distraction, wonder, and worship. I will roam freely among the various beliefs concerning man's place in the cosmos, perhaps even the formation of that cosmos. 

Then, at the end of a long day, I will ask one or more of the gods to inhabit my ailing heart.

Who knows, we will see. I might be reading and translating Sanskrit by tomorrow at sundown. Perhaps I will emerge as an expert on the dangers of fundamentalism, embracing the pure understanding of poetry in a strictly literal sense. I could end up as an assassin belly-dancer, like Robert Plant, but a few years younger.

I have not felt very chatty lately, which affects my desire to write, if not my willingness also. It greatly adds to my spiritual dimension, though.

I went to lunch with my manager yesterday and could think of nothing at all interesting to say. Our going to lunch was for the purpose of me asking questions. I was empty of those, too. I had prepared nothing. Luckily, he is always good for some fresh insight, which he offered freely. Because of days of insomnia, I struggled to retain anything.

It exists now like the memory of having eaten soup once while ill. 

Empty as a koan, filled with the great doubt. 

The sound of a mysterious god, like a secret Santa.

The internet says that the rains will return today. My disposition has invited their return, like a mood ring drowning in a rain dance.

I am certain of it.

Need one more normal night's sleep and my sense of eternal irreverence will return, cursing all gods from a great and unfriendly distance. That is my gift from Ganesh.

Suspect that by tomorrow morning I will be levitating with cheerful spiritual wisdom, in harmony with Tao, each breath a whispered prayer for the next nest.

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