Standing out in the middle of the road in my bathrobe and slippered feet, bed-heat shimmering off me like smoke, burning clouds to the east and a still fat moon hanging in the blue-dusty western heavens, I felt whole and realized. I began to understand what my husband tells me about having lived for 80 years: that your soul can be filled and complete. That you can reach a point where you feel ready to face the biggest adventure of anyone's life.
In my case it is probably not that adventure. It is probably more like what we might consider a test. But this morning I felt utterly capable of meeting whatever is required of me.
Perhaps it has something to do with finally having cleared off my desk and settled on a much larger planner (who was I kidding with that little thing). It might also have something to do with finally sorting through my reading pile to cleave to the most important.
Currently that is Biocentrism by Robert Lanza. I am trying to wrap my mind around his mind-blowing ideas and if I succeed, I'll review the book here in a later post.
Just turned down an invitation to a wonderful, even magical Thanksgiving party. Last year I attended that (annual) party on my own while my husband was staying with our ill friend, who had her massive stroke the following day. I could not bring myself to attend that same party this year (am I that superstitious?).
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