the time began by looking at a pic my son sent. My mother. Father. His father's mother. Holding my daughter Jenny as a newborn. I say these descriptors to her. She looks. Long. Asks….They are dead? yes. except New Nana, your grandmother, the baby. She points to the 3 others…This one? yes. dead. This one? This one? yes. all dead. There was talk. What i thought dead might be, her wondering. and then we decided to go down to the Garden. And the day went along. The small wonderings being enough, always left open ended to revisit and wonder more. We wondered about centipedes, about the different forms seeds take, whether glass is metal. How it is different. The weight of water. Velocity. The desire to pick a flower, tap dancing. Who can say if you're good or not. How a cat and a chicken always want to come where you go. How many ways the number 10 can be painted, how you can sing in your head, and no one else can hear you.. How she had just learned that. By herself.
i have spent the ending moments of days with the Memorial ceremonies for Ticht Nacht Han. I think how shallow my practice has been. Double click this. an example of the shallow, surface, and then….the More
windthread 
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