Sitting here, Sunday morning pre-dawn, listening to the rain mix with soft country music. What a morning. I had just enough milk for two cups of coffee, nothing more. I wish this moment could stretch out towards forever. I am as contented as I've ever been. You may remember what Lao Tzu said about it: He who is contented is rich.
My life lacks nothing intangible. Of the material, I can live without.
Yesterday, I wrote a post concerning the feelings of aging, of becoming old. It was written in part from memory, part from imagination, the rest from first-hand knowledge, not from any coherence concerning my current emotions. It was an experiment, based on the knowledge of feelings rather than essences felt. The spectral curse of age has only hinted at what will arrive.
My main hope concerning aging and death is that I will not be given much time to complain about it.
The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.
- Li Po
I have regained something about myself, a sensibility lost and now recaptured. For the moment, I have ceased my devotion to the inessential. This is how many must feel when they give their lives over to the numinous, to be held in the godness moment. Liberated from trivialities, left to wander the moment that matters. This one.
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