October 21, 2022

Peace must not be a product of ignoring.

My favorite hour of the day is…

Any hour of the day when I’m of benefit. But, aside from that, any hour of the day when I’m most present. Genuine. That’s why we love love, because we show up for that good stuff. Whatever we show up for fully, we’re giving it a chance. Imagine if we showed up for everything fully, but in a relaxed way..!

Okay, aside from all the Buddhist mumbo jumbo, I’d say any hour where I’m kissing making out etc, biking on a bike path, seeing friends/community, working at what I love, relaxing with a lover or friends.

Okay I’m still sorta skipping the question—let’s say the first hour of the day, when I first wake up, it’s a little peaceful, it’s a new day, it’s good to be alive. But I also love when the day is over and I can flop, relax, turn off.


And you?





The most important thing to remember
on a Sunday
is to leave the phone still on its counter, ignored
to look askance whenever the wall clock brims up at you
instead, bicycle calmly with arms outstretched as red dry leaves skitter forward beneath you
focus like a baby Michelangelo on every passing buttergold leaf as it flies high through the sky
should one wear three layers or just two
is brunch at 10 or 2
is it nearly evening or barely afternoon
one day a week we think of nothing except how the ivy climbs the stone wall
how the music rhymes and throttles, urbs and jellows, burps and roars, skitters and sits.
How he has a short nose that started fast and she has a long one, like a ski slope in the Fall
yes, there is always time to think about others: the war over there, the poverty here, the torture and suffering and murder that is so unnecessary. Peace must not be a product of ignoring.
What it is that we are leaving behind is notifications, being happy here yet in a rush to get there, the insecurity that makes us lean into conversations between insecure people in insecure cliques
Leave behind most of all this heart, also butter gold. For she must have it but she is not hungry yet. She may never be. And yet.
And yet. It is Sunday, and it is not time to think about The Future, it is time to sink into the salted warm bath of The Present.

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