I write this because some mornings it is a struggle to remember the spirit part of me.  The human just wants to lie down again and go back to that crazy dream world and finish the tasks there.  There are always tasks there.  And tasks here.

Why is it that some days everything feels like a task?  And other mornings, the birds coaxing dawn over the trees seems like a perfect goal of this human adventure.  No one really understands or can figure it out–all our ideas are merely guesses.  We set it all up that way–living by surprises.

And after so many years on the planet, I don’t pray for surprises any more–just maybe to hear the birdsong and see the sun once gain cover the planet in coral love.