In a time of great change and upheaval, fear is my inheritance, my shadow-self clinging and dragging at my feet, my belly, my throat. Fear is my keeper. I miss more than I see. But I see the great old tree at the bottom of the garden.

Waking to my disconnection I have nowhere to go but into myself, yet I flee. I may be on the fast track, but it's not a smooth ride.
And today I have been reminded that everyday life is the extra-ordinary one that I seek, and instead of seeking to intensely change and shape my life every day, I might find it intensely changed simply by experiencing it in the moment. Who or what might I fall in love with? The irreplaceable, vulnerable beauty of strangers' self-conscious postures on the subway, the way they carefully avoid making eye contact with me. The world is so big and so beautiful, I used to cry. Where is there room for me when even the smallest feather crumpled in the gutter shines, when each brick laid is laden with significance? Reading each nexus of power and information, reading the city, reading tiny details, reading the lines, and the newspaper flapping its way down the sidewalk, would I ever arrive anywhere? Or would I simply stay frozen in a moment's observation, of wood grains, of graffiti, of rain in rivulets, and the smell of new pavement, a sea of wobbling umbrellas? I will be examining an old locket, a cat, a faded flyer, the nearest mural, and the shoes of passersby. And if I examine enough cups of tea, perhaps I will look up to find some new revelation has settled around my shoulders. The world is big enough for me.