“Every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” -Charles Dickens-

Monday, October 6, 2014


I live in a building where almost everyone is a stranger now, where I used to know every one. These new and ever changing ones have no use for my presence, and don't know the me I used to be, nor the history of the place, nor do they care.  It's understandable of course.  Why should they.  Weekends are roughest because there's a lot of coming and going at all hours day and night.  Everything creeks and cracks, voices echo, doors slam shaking walls, and I'm shaken as well from whatever I'm doing or not doing, muscles clenched, heart quickened.  Sometimes a spill, or a ruined pen line.  It's unpredictable.  Often a startled awakening precipitates sleepless vigilance.  I use it as best I can to strengthen my focus, in the same way a loud siren can be incorporated into a sitting meditation--"soften" I say to my self, and "let go, let go, go on, let go" playing in my head like a mantra.  But this weekend I was struggling with a cold that had worked it's way into all my damaged parts--shoulder, knees, hand and neck joints.  Friday I taped this sign to my apartment door.  Some results.  Some resentments too.
And, so it goes...

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