Shake off the funk.  Coming back down to the unreal life of day to day ups and downs from a few days living, breathing, walking in heaven.  Sometimes near-death experiences–brushing so close to paradise–I just don’t want to come home to the stories I’ve built.  I see them, I can even honor them, but the idea of dismantling them is formidable.

Returning to reality of life ending all around me and the paradoxical phenomena of relationships reminds me of how dearly I’ve loved to escape.  Whether geographic, alcoholic, or self-centered isolation, escape from interactions with others seemed so much easier than the impossible task of “figuring it out” or “understanding.”  And now I believe that there is simply no such thing as understanding–it’s a constantly moving so-called target.

Thus today I will retrieve the crystalized senses of sitting beneath towering elders, flickering forest sunlight, soft moss covered earth and brilliant bubbling rushing ohming grace of the river.  I now sit on the ever-wise rounded rocks by the chanting water and watch a leaf of the story drift by.