Today Helen and I were sitting in a dry creek bed and the sun was shining on the slimy green cement and there was a leaf embedded in the muck and I had just told Helen how much i missed Marlowe and missed being so deeply communed with her universe, and realized how much there was all around me that was calling my name, how much that i was capable of loving so deeply. I realized this, and nothing happened. There was no lightning bolt. I didn’t become enlightened or particularly happy. But it was quiet for a moment and Helen was smiling about their dad and the sun was in my eye. And I suppose that life is not always about passion, and fireworks, and the death of the ego. I suppose sometimes it’s just about paying attention.


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