10.23.22

You're driving through Bolinas. I remember that drive and I remember thinking that I would never forget it. The hairline of trees. In the presence of an old and great power. Salt in the air. The ocean was so close then. It hadn't occurred to me yet that I could reach out and touch it. 

____ texts me weekly from the monastery. Their messages have the quality of a written letter. Long and winding. I can tell they have returned to time. Suddenly, there's so much space for everything, even my short replies. They're thinking of me. They tell me about reading Thay's book where he falls in love with a nun. Have you read it? they ask. I haven't. They say: "feeling solid in this current process and growth. big plans in the future. excited to share with you." I'm relieved to hear that they have plans for the future. Most days I get as far as planning what I'll have for lunch. I imagine being lifted up on what they must be imagining awaits us, so many drops of dew condensing into a cloud.