How small can the Next Indicated Thing be for me?  Is it to move this paper from this side of the desk to the other side?  Is it to remove the bills from the envelopes–just that?  Is it to put the plate on the counter, not rinsing it now, just put it on the counter. Or perhaps it is applying for another job, or taking a long walk in the dark, or going to check to see if my old dog is still breathing.

NIT picking I call it.  Nits are the tiniest period-sized lice eggs that, if you have a wide experienced life, you’ve picked out of someone’s tangled hair using a comb with tight teeth and kerosene-laced shampoo.  It is not a pleasant task.  Oh–and add a whining child to that.

It is just the next indicated thing that is required as a human trudges this happy road of destiny.  Today each breath I claim dignity and kindness to myself.

I found wide centuries of oaks last night in the dark.  Tall cedars who still tower ages above us all.  They whispered a secret or two to my silent sad self: “Breathe me and know that I am the you am that I am.”

I lean on Gaia’s open branches today as the smallest next action comes up to me.