Thursday, April 1, 2010


Just before dawn I put the kettle on the flame and put Yo Yo Ma's solo works quietly on the speakers, a record I haven't listened to in years. By the time I poured a thick cup of coffee dashed with cardamom and cinnamon, the sky was transforming from grey into orange. As Yo Yo's cello wove a tender melody into the air, all at once I took my first sip of coffee at my doorstep, the sun peeked over the valley, turning the pines and junipers honey red, the Sanctuary wolves began to howl over the hills in the distance and our rooster, Rocky, squealed his wind-up toy crow, all in the space of a few heartbeats. Without thought or attachment, my eyes filled with tears. Being here in this moment is something artists since the dawn of time itself have attempted to express, that moment which connects you to everything that was and is and will be, all of its sorrow and delight, so raw that your heart breaks open.

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