I heard a kid say in a letter to Santa Claus: “I don’t believe in you, but I think you’re a good idea.”  And isn’t it funny that so many people who don’t believe in god spend time fighting with it all the same? 

There are days that nothing makes sense, death seems not like a door but a slam in the face.  Illness is just too puzzling and brothers thousands of miles away, and even further in the heart, just take turns out of sight.   Memories are more like a scornful tease than warmth. 

But Krishna talks about “calm gentle” stillness and purity.  While the mechanics of my daily life scream to me from the other room, over my tense back and neck muscles, like hungry cats. 

I rest in the timeless here and now.  I breathe into the moment.  I know nothing, I hold nothing, I claim everything, I am that I am.