Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Right This Minute

As I sit this morning, in meditation, a thought – an old thought – pops into my head: What’s wrong, just this minute? I see it, notice it, hear it said by that little voice that’s mine but not mine, in my head. And I think: why not turn that around? What’s right, just this minute?

It’ a lovely summer Wyoming morning. Cool. Birds chatter at the feeders. Our neighbors a half mile away raise sled dogs, and it’s breakfast time: 70 dogs yelp in happy – unalloyed happy – anticipation of the Great Chow. I’m about to ride with my best riding buddy; we are each taking both of our horses, ride one/lead one, just to get them out and exercised.

And tomorrow I leave for California, to a cousin’s husband’s memorial service. It’s been years since I’ve seen most of my family there. There are few of the “older” generation left; in fact, we, the cousins, are now the “older” generation. There are grandchildren, and great-grands. And we all still feel as if we are still growing up in the heat of Southern California.

But right this minute: tea, a cat on my lap; I can breathe well this morning, the asthma is managed; I’m beginning to think better as the tea manages my late-rising brain; I don’t have much work, but I’m fine with that: I’m still seeking what it is I want to do when I grow up, and seeking something different from the years of writing training programs to teach people how to sell stuff.

Stuff lost its thrill for me when my office burned down, a few years ago. Now I want to work, not to help people get more stuff, but to help people realize the stuff isn’t it. Stuff isn’t life. Life is much more than stuff.

It’s what is right, right this minute.

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