Producing an event takes months of planning, intense week of running around, phone calls, missed lists, reviewing over and over, setting up, anxiety and then hundreds of people.  Like preparing days for a dinner feast, the actual event seems to last 10 minutes and poof–success and exhaustion.

As I was walking in a downtown alley amid the concrete and brick forest, construction cranes asleep standing on one leg, summer sun resting in the west, I saw the dependable future.  Flush purple bursting clover flowers in a wide bush lining the rusted fence.  Instantly a perspective of all my lives, the endless galaxies, hysterical days reduced to recognizing that the weeds would very comfortably take over everything.

If I leave all my troubles behind to walk the alleys and watch the grass crack concrete, I am at peace with All That Is.  My tiny body on a blue-green planet in the outer skirts of a moderate galaxy is right-sized. 

All my actions are a dervish twirling adoring dance for the Divine.