Doctor says no cure for love, you’re healed by necessity in the fullness of time. Small relief for big suffering. I am a victim of Peace of Mind.
Big boat to the car mechanic. Healed by a loving touch. Twenty-five car years is 100 people years. Maybe it was spark in those old plugs. The car purrs.
There was no warriors’ meditation, no bike ride in the high meadows between the Olympics and the Cascades. It is peace in non accomplishment. That which rises twice in brightness by honoring what is right.
Uber trainer to the stars suggests we skip swimming in the morning, as well. I thought he said swimming and drowning and told him emphatically no. It’s settled. A minor deviation in routine is no cause to crumble.
Solidly flexible here. Healed, not cured. Week Eight. Eighty-Six weeks to go on the Port Gamble to Talkeetna trail.
No comments:
Post a Comment