The process.

❍

  A new computer sits in front of me. 

It is quarter past noon and I am still in my pajamas and am just now sipping tea from my favourite cup and gathering my thoughts for this day slipping past me  

rather quickly -- albeit late now. I did wake early to perform prescribed Key Three Exercises. 

I confess to finishing one episode of The Crown, one of my guilty pleasures. 

I have been out to the book shed to store the packing box for the computer, 

and to carry out there a box of supplies used for my Old Man Doggie. 

Yes, I wept as I carried this particular carton out to my shed. I stood there 

in the organized chaos of the book shed and placed the cardboard container in several spots before deciding to store it in the rear basket of my tricycle. That's where Ziggy rode when we took tricycle trips together. Who knows what the remainder of this day holds for me. 

This is a day wherein I woke deciding that I would move slowly through all feelings and tasks

and allow whatever will happen to simply be. 

It was explained to me awhile back that it is an impossibility to push one's self, because to 

push, one has to be behind the object, and in order to push oneself, one would have to 

physically be out of body. Or mentally. Mentally out of body. 

So here I am, allowing the waves to hit me, feeling them,  

feeling what they carry to me and wash over me. 

I will still snowshoe this afternoon, me and my BGFF. 

My prayer flag forest atop Coyote Hill is where I find some quiet time for prayer 

and centering myself. I have my trail, and Pintō has her own trail out past 

our favourite trees, a trail whereon she no doubt finds her own peace 

and time to center herself. She does that, you know. 

❍ 

The more authentically and deeply we can speak from our own particular experience, 

we speak to the particular experience of others. 

We say universal things and they don't speak to the particular experience of others. 

❍