A wooden handcrafted ancient flute.  That’s what I want to be.  A clean channel for the breath of Her Majesty.  Or maybe it will be Ganesha, blowing universes into creation from his thunderous nose through the musical instrument of me.  Another day it is the illusion of duality swinging back and forth, the air brilliant and then bothersome, back and forth, held up imperceivably by the Tao.

So each morning I walk and I sit, letting the human jumble of cells and feelings and aches and fantasies settle down so the water is clearer and I can see Gaia holding all beneath the rapids.  There is no time that my flute is abandoned.  Her whispering breath is everywhere singing my song.  I don’t even have to practice, really.  And every performance is perfect.

Isn’t that nice?!