My visits to the stone circle come daily. A quiet sit to ponder over the lake that reaches below; a mix of stretches to signal appreciation to the body~~I will meet you more than half way on this aging road. Then a salutation to the sun, a Tai Chi-like series of moves. I reach to the sky, squat to touch earth and deliver the energy to my heart. Then I make a quarter turn to the next direction. This meditation ends where it began, facing east into the rising sun. I whisper a silent prayer and end with an unfolding of hands, palms down towards the earth.
"It's a good day to die," I say. I've done this for over 20 years. A recognition of gratefulness and humility. How could I, after all, ask for anything beyond the present, sacred moment?
This past month I found myself adding to the mantra: "It's a good day to die," I whispered... "and let die."
LET die. Release. Unclench the old in the throes of winter's last gasp. Tortuga had sold; a new trailer appeared. Spring's cusp delivers as wild burros bray and stampede past my trailer in frisky, sex-driven romps.
Work'in it.
Work'in it.
Eveything is energy. All I need do is surrender to her unseen waves and ways.
Is not the essence of the wild living close to death? Breathing the breath that is at once the first and last?
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