The question of why we change careers in search of meaning haunts anyone who has felt the inevitable ennui of existing in our modernist – post modernist even – existence. If you wake up one morning and ask the dress in the back of the closet “What love’s got to do with it?”, you might get the reply, “Absolutely nothing.” I ask my shoes quite frequently, and all they ever saw is “slorp, squish, scuff, slorp”.

Hubris is a hell of a drug.

God is fabric. Life fabric. Connective fabric. It is weavable. Since we are fabric, we are God, and therefore, we can weave the patterns of happenings throughout the universe.

Meditation much like dreaming is an area that is often hard to bring information back from. And into the real world. The liminal space that is entered is a place of practice, release, letting go, and unstrapping the mind.

As we watch the colors change and contemplate the passing of life, I hope we can all consider how it works together and not judge its right or wrongness. If we are to "close the loop" in our judgements, we must be able to find that Middle Way.

Considering rain, I am reminded that experiencing the forces of nature is not always the most comfortable experience, though being a creature of water is comforting. The rain and all of its liquid counterparts unassumingly proceed as the most powerful forces in the natural world, carving canyons, flooding cities, growing all life, covering over 70% of the earth’s surface.

The current feeling of anticipation can be honored for its mere existence in this moment. I try to ask myself at these intersections, “What if I focused on that feeling I am having and not on the subject I am feeling for?” Then that’s where the ineffable magic of living is held for a moment.