And They Will Be Reconciled To Loss

Reconciled-To-Loss-They-Retrieved-Their-Belongings

 

*

Got to spend this morning at the range with some Israeli commandos, shooting their Tavor assault rifles. Nice bit of kit, that. Bull-pup configuration, which allows you to run a full-length barrel but keep the overall length down to something more like a subgun or a SBR (short-barreled rifle), which is good for working in buildings, cars, and other tight spaces. And with the full-length barrel you still get the ballistic performance that allows you to run the gun accurately out to distances of 400 meters without much trouble. Their package has a lot going for it, and it was a ton of fun to shoot. Plus, you know, Israeli commandos. I mean, come on.

 

Fun with guns!

Just another shitty day at work!

 

 

We’ve got our own range training coming up on Friday, too, so I’m getting lots of trigger time in this week. Always good for my mood.

 

I got nothing else for you today, man. I like to shoot. One thing, though. It was a bunch of us out there today for this demo of this new weapon system, guys from the Sheriff’s Department and a bunch of other local agencies, a lot of guys I used to be on SWAT with. My little brother was out there, too, running the range and getting his shooting on. Anyway, it was fucking cool to see these guys, the guys I know who are really switched on, go out there and pick up this new weapon system and put it through its paces. Like handing a new violin to a serious violinist. Even though they’ve never seen one before, they know what to do with it, and they know what they want it to do, and they’re aces at figuring it out on the fly. It’s just cool as shit to me to run with guys who know what they’re doing, and to be able to watch them at work. It always gives me a deep sense of pleasure.

And a tip of the hat to those Israeli dudes. They had this classroom session before we started shooting, where they were sort of putting on the dog and pony show about the weapon system, but what they kept saying was, “Well, I’m not gonna say too much about this because you’re not going to give a shit about what I say until you’ve shot the thing. Then when you’ve shot it, we can talk about it, answer your questions.” Which was spot on.

Those guys had some hard bark on them.

 

I liked the hell out of them.

 

 

***

 

namaste.

 

 

***

 

Cora

Cora

 

*

 

I am happy.

 

I feel enlivened and energized by our move out to the tiny house and by the various building projects that move entails. Over the weekend I laid the foundation piers for the bathhouse and dug the trench for the gray water drainage and the little leech field- our shower and sink won’t be plumbed into the sewer but will run into a kind of rock-filled trench to drain back into our own water-starved dirt. As long as we don’t run too many showers, and keep all environmentally friendly on our soap we should be fine with this set up. And we’re going to run a composting toilet out there. I’ll keep my fingers crossed on that.

Yesterday I sent the Woman on the Verge on a supply run to the Home Depot for pressure treated lumber and various hardware, so when I got home from work I could knock out a couple of hours of work on the foundation. That Woman did a bang-up job, hauling wood, stacking it in the truck, wrassling it out to the job site, and picking out all the strange hardware to hang joists and whatnot. I’d be lost without her.

Anyhoo. After some head scratching on my part I got her framed out and ready for the deck boards. I am the worst sort of carpenter, I have to admit. I just get an idea of what I want and then I rough it out and go get whatever it occurs to me that I’ll need or think I need and then I pile it up at the site and then start banging shit together. No drawings, no plans. Intuitive construction. I make up for lack of fine-tuned accuracy and pre-planning by over-building everything so at least it won’t ever fall down. I try to make sure everything exceeds whatever code calls for and mostly I do. I’m sure that if anyone who builds stuff for a living ever clapped eyes on what I’ve done they’d be horrified. I’m always a little bit horrified myself. But also pleased. Always that, always happy with the final result. It feels wonderful to have something in the world that was only in your head before. I like that a great deal. And I like all the manly shit, you know, power tools and hammers swinging, blood and sweat and dirt. Sawdust.

After I knocked off I took a shower and then laid on the sofa with old girl and we surfed the intertubes and read for a while and then I went out to the lair and had a good sit. Lit a candle and some incense and watched in silence as the world fell dark around me and the night world came alive. Moonlight and crickets and the merest hint of a sea breeze. A frog hopped across the deck in front of the buddha and disappeared into the brush, barely visible in the shadows, silent.

And sitting there the whole of my being opened up. Opened up to the night all around me, opened up to the vastness of the universe and of time, and the breeze seemed to move through the world and through me without differentiation, as if my body had no solidity, no borders. I sat in a kind of pure awareness and openness and for a while I was simply present. It was a nice feeling.

The instruction is not to attach any importance to what goes on during mediation, not to cling, and this has been a very helpful instruction for me. I think that otherwise I would cling quite quickly to experiences such as that one, to the bliss and openness, and think that there was something important about it, something to try to get to again in my next session. And that can lead to a lot of tension and expectation and can cause you to make a pretty big error in your practice. It’s easy to lose your way chasing after something mystical.

Instead, you treat it just like the thoughts that ceaselessly arise. Notice it, and let it go. Go back to the breath, go back to awareness, go back to the direct experience, not the interpretation of it. The lived experience, not the narrative of it.

Still, those moments are a blessing and I’m grateful for them. They’re not the point, that’s all.

 

*

And this morning I was up early to do my prayers and sit and watch the show in reverse, the world shifting from darkness to light, the world coming awake. The birds fluttering in the underbrush, eating bugs, lighting on a branch and giving off a little burst of song before shooting off again. The sky growing lighter. The world awake by the time I’ve finished.

And what I’m grateful for this morning is not any of the experiences that this practice has given me, but instead simply for the practice itself. The structure and routine of it, the practice of practice.  I’m grateful for it in itself and look forward to living within that practice for the rest of my life. Bringing myself again and again to a place of silence and bare awareness, stripped of all else. Beginning each day with a solemn ceremony of prayer and contemplation, of marshaling and shepherding my compassion and gratitude and small awareness, dedicating myself daily to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Seeking enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings.

It seems a profoundly good thing.

 

*

So. Work and practice. Love and commitment. Building up and tearing down. Stillness and action. All things. All things. Opening up to the world exactly as it is. Trying to see it. Trying to see it. Trying to listen. Curious. Attentive.

I read this yesterday, I hadn’t heard it before but it is spot on. From the Jesuit priest Anthony de Mello:

 

“Enlightenment is absolute cooperation with the inevitable.”

 

*

 

Exactly so.

 

***

 

 

Namaste, my friends. May you be happy. May you be at peace.

 

***

 

Via Dolorosa

 

Via-Dolorosa

*

 

This morning I was heading in to work, listening to StoryCorps, Elisa Seeger and her husband Bobby, remembering their son Aiden, who died at seven. Earlier in the week I found out a good friend of mine is dying of the cancer. Another friend of mine, a kid, barely thirty, went in to get checked out for chest pains, they found a six inch cancerous tumor growing on his heart. I was in traffic, stopped at a light, and I looked over at this van next to me, it was from this place I used to work, a couple of group homes for people who had been institutionalized most of their lives and we were trying to get them into this kind of friendlier, more supportive group home space. For the most part it was a disaster, I think. Under trained staff, inexperienced administrators, lots of assaults and injuries and clients gettting out and wandering the streets. Anyway, there was this guy in the front passenger seat, intently biting one of his fingers, a kind of intense and quizzical look on his face, that familiar and yet individual and unique look of someone whose wiring is profoundly in disarray. It brought all that back in an immediate, visceral wave, like biting into one of Proust’s madelines, the years I spent working in children’s hospitals and group homes, locked juvenile facilities. All the physical interventions, jumping on them and holding them down to be forcibly medicated after they’d assaulted someone, the flung poo, the screaming, the relentless sadness and frustration and senselessness of it all. The lack of hope. And also the love, the sweetness, the moments of joy and tenderness unmediated by any kind of filter, just simple and raw experience. The good and the ugly.

And my heart was both broken and assuaged by it. Lifted as if on waves in the stormiest of seas and plunged down into the abyss as well. Both conditions, of bliss and grief, stood there in the middle of the street and started making out like teenagers. We all honked our horns but they continued, plunging their hands into each others pants, deaf to our entreaties.

 

 

We had to drive around them to get anywhere.

 

 

*

To me the great wonder, the great question, is not why does all this bad shit happen to me, but why it keeps failing, for the most part, to happen. I mean, I know I have suffered my small troubles and I know I won’t be spared in the end, or even much along the way, but still. There are great wide expanses of calm seas, with a favoring wind and sweet water to drink and plenty of supplies laid in. My wealth seems limitless for days at a time. I have lashed myself to a great woman and like Ahab I will not quit in my endeavor though she maim and kill me, for she is the only prize in the sea worth spending myself upon. I have a job that allows me the illusion of making a difference, and even if I don’t, it lets me play with guns and fight people and chase badguys, so. I have my strength yet, and vision, hearing, smell. The joy of eating good food, the joy of making art, the great gift of practice and following the dharma, a wonderful family, good friends, money in the bank.

I should be delirious with joy. And frequently am.

It is fitting that I should be crushed with grief, too.

And frequently am.

 

*

I know there’s no world more strange and glorious. It costs your life to take in the show, and that seems about right.

 

***

 

 

Namaste.

 

 

***

 

 

On The Line

on-the-line-twins

 

*

At the end of the month I will be going on retreat again. Last year I managed to attend six retreats, most of them two or three days and one nice long one of nine days. More than three weeks of retreat time altogether. This will be my first of the new year, although my last retreat kind of stretched over the new year so this will be my one and a halfth.

 

ha.

 

*

I would spend a lot of time in retreat if I could manage it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to manage a traditional three year retreat, (although that idea certainly calls to me) but I think that making time a few times a year to remove yourself from the busyness of daily life and set aside some time dedicated only to practice, contemplation, and study is a good way to proceed. Lord knows I dedicate a few days a few times a year to study fighting and killing, so it seems only right to balance that a little bit. In fact I feel I need years and years of retreat to balance out the twenty years of cop work I’ve done. Luckily the power of even a short retreat is so great that I find I can undo years of damage relatively quickly. Perhaps undo is the wrong word, but something like it.

 

The real key, of course, is to turn each day into retreat. I get a good start on that with daily practice each morning. I get up while it’s still dark and do all my buddha stuff, prayers and meditation. To begin each day in the cold pre-dawn darkness, outside on my deck with a candle and a stick of incense and my stone buddha and my wool blanket and pray and sit as the world comes alive is a great, great blessing and it feels utterly holy to me. Not holy in a biblical, religious way, but holy in an immediate, physical, numinous way. It seems to nourish me in the way that cold water from a well quenches one’s thirst. It is the cells and molecules and atoms of my body that give thanks for it.

Then I try to keep that awareness with me throughout the day. It is helpful to have reminders and support for this, so I have a daily dharma text I follow and read a little something from each morning after I get ready for work. Then throughout the day I try to keep coming back to that state from the morning. I’m not well trained enough yet to maintain it ceaselessly throughout the day, I’m easily thrown from my mount- but I do try to keep getting on over and over again, and to make the stretches of mindless forgetting shorter and more infrequent.

And I close my day with dharma study and prayers, and a sitting session if conditions are supportive of it. And Sundays I go to my center and sit with my dharma brothers and sisters and receive a teaching from one of our wonderful teachers.

I feel blessed to have found my path and to have the support of the buddha, the dharma, and the sangha in helping me proceed.

 

*

I don’t believe that how we pray or what we study makes much of a difference ultimately. I mean, I think it does for me and I think I’ve found what I want to keep doing, but I mean, it is much more it seems to me about the making space for devotion, making space for the holy, attending to what moves you, what nourishes you, what makes you feel happy and contented and of benefit to others.

 

I think that’s something that I see in the community of friends here on the intertubes. All these glorious lunatics who do art, who love their broken families, who rage against the stupidity of the world, who look in on each other with love and concern that feels rare in the real world. It’s nice.

 

*

 

I hope that you find your retreat and make room for it in your life.

 

*

 

Namaste.

 

 

***

 

Blind Girl’s Dance

blindgirls-copy

 

*

 

May all beings find happiness and the cause of happiness.

May they be free from suffering and the cause of suffering.

May they not be separated from the great happiness that is free from suffering.

May they abide in great equanimity, free from attachment and aversion to those near and far.

 

*

 

So, that’s a prayer that I recite daily. More than daily. The Four Immeasurables, or Brahmaviharas. The prayer is a very sweet one I think, pretty hard to object to. You want everyone to be happy, to be free from suffering, and to gain equanimity and enlightenment. Everyone. Everyone. Everyone.

It’s a way of changing your own conditioned thinking. Before this practice I did not have a lot of experience wishing good things for other people. I mean, I thought I kind of did, in a way, I mean, I didn’t hate everyone. Just that guy at work. And this lady in front of me in the check out line. And that asshole in the fast lane. Etc.

I had never made it a part of my day to just say, “Hey, I want everyone to be happy and not to suffer.”

 

Does it work?

 

Yeah, I think so. I think it does. I’ve seen that it has helped me be more actively compassionate. More patient. More willing to see everyone around me as kind of in the same boat. Everyone wants to be happy. That guy just wants the pain to stop and he’s doing the best he knows how. That lady, man, she’d give anything not to feel the way she’s feeling right now. That old man on the bench. The guy driving the bus.

We are all the same in that simple reality.

The equanimity part is a little bit strange at first. I thought it was at least. “May they abide in great equanimity”…that part I get, but… “free from attachment and aversion to those near and far.”- that part gave me pause. I am attached. I am attached to those around me, those I love. And I have aversion to those I don’t love, those who harm me and my family and you, too. So, what’s that mean to say that? Do I want everyone to be a kind of emotionally dead robot who neither loves nor hates anyone, but treats everyone the same? Reacts to everyone the same? Isn’t that a kind of death? I mean, isn’t there an objective good and bad and shouldn’t we draw our lines accordingly? Aren’t we abdicating what it means to be a fully human entity if we seek that kind of equanimity for ourselves and even wish it on others?

For me the key is that concept of “attachment” and “aversion.” It doesn’t say, or mean, that we should not love. We must love. But we don’t need to attach. Attachment is an unnecessary aspect of love and doesn’t really add anything to the pure expression of love. Right? I mean, we’ve all felt that ugly clinging side to love where it comes with this plea- “don’t leave me! do what I want! meet my needs!”

That’s not the kind of love we should be cultivating.

The same with aversion. We can understand that someone is harming us or acting unskillfully without having aversion. Without hating them. If we see clearly enough, we begin to understand that they are also simply seeking happiness and trying to avoid pain, whatever the pain they’re inflicting on us and others. They’re confused. They’re acting out of a lack of understanding about what really works when it comes to happiness.

So the goal really does become “love everyone.” Love. Everyone. Love them knowing that they are doing their best, just like you. Love them knowing they’ll let you down and betray you, despite their best intentions. Love knowing they will die in car crashes and falling in the bathtub and of old age and cancer and the other million ways they do. Love them knowing they’re not at all any different from you, that they are full of all the same fears and doubts and inadequacies that you are.

Maybe it’s impossible. But I make the wish in a very concrete way, out loud, first thing every morning when I sit. I say it last thing at night when I get into bed. I think it as often as I can manage during the day. And that’s where the change happens. It happens inside my own brain. After doing this for a while, I start to see everyone as my brother. I’m like George Bailey running down the streets of Bedford Falls. I want to hug everyone. Everyone. Everyone. When I find myself getting irritated I can sometimes now remember that they’re trying, too, just like me. And my heart wells up with love for them. For the burdens they’re bearing with such dignity and for their brave, tangled hearts. And then a really strange thing happens and that is that you see that although it is all just happening in your own brain, it actually changes the whole world outside you.

It actually becomes a different kind of world.

 

*

To me this is why I practice Buddhism with such intensity and fervor. It has an observable effect on my inner world and an undeniable effect on the outer world as a result. It is like getting Photoshop that works on the world I see around me.

It is an efficacious pursuit.

 

*

 

Namaste.

 

 

***

 

The Book of Lamentations

The-book-of-Lamentations-copy

 

The tone is bleak: God does not speak, the suffering presented is undeserved, and expectations of future redemption are minimal.

 

- from Wikipedia

 

***

 

Ahoy, mateys.

 

Last night was proof of the brilliance of my wife’s plan to move us out to le tout petite maison: the child brought our grandson out to us for a ten minute visit, and then the both of them went back inside.

 

VICTORY IS OURS!!!

 

***

 

I have this case where this woman is letting her mentally ill son live with her, which is very nice except he keeps attacking her, beating her up, now he’s choking her which is a pretty good indication that the next thing is we’ll be standing over her and zipping her into a body bag. She don’t want him to go to prison, so she won’t cooperate with us. I don’t blame her all that much I guess. But I keep thinking about this other case I had a while back where the kid packed his grandma up into a old suitcase and put her in the trunk of his car and threw her off a cliff and then went back and tidied up and lived in her house and if he hadn’t kept cashing her checks he might have got away with it. I’m talking to this one that’s still alive and the whole time I’m half talking to the dead one, you know?

She don’t want to hear it.

 

I think the last ten homicides we’ve had, eight of them was a mentally ill kid killing his mom or the neighbors. Mostly moms, though.

 

“all i do for you, and this is how you repay me?”

 

yep.

 

*

 

I do not bring this up as a condemnation of our mental health system. Or our criminal justice system. Or of loving mommies.

 

Fact is, it is just a hard old life and full to the brim with inequities and unanswerable questions. You could never fix it, even if you set out to. Which god why would you. We are provisional creatures and bound for slaughter I don’t know why we act all the time as if things were otherwise. It’s an insult to all the suffering we’re in for. Ought to be that we take our measure with more dignity and less complaint somehow although that sounds meanhearted when I say it and it’s not meant so. But. But. But. I admire suffering done well, with some grace in it. Look at the burdens we all bear, we’re none of us exempt. And it’s not that you cain’t cry about it, shit, cryin’s fine, it’s apt. But maybe not whine. Maybe not protest that it’s unfair.  Greet the horror with open arms and fix it a drink and set some good food before it, set down your best china, don’t begrudge nothing. You’ll get the visit just the same so be a good host and maybe you’ll have some fun while he’s burning down your house and murdering your beloved. When he comes for you set your drink down and take him in your arms.

Dance with him what brung you.

 

*

I love this mean old world I really do.

 

***

 

 

namaste.

 

 

***

 

 

 

Hartford Accident and Indemnity

Consoling-him-copy

 

*

 

Nor is there one of us to be spared, but will be each of us in our turn taken to the pit and cast away.

 

*

I feel increasingly like one of the officers rearranging the deck chairs as the icy water drags the behemoth down. Yes, it’s pointless, but really they do look better arranged in rows of four, don’t you think?

 

We do what we can, we do what seems right, or the least wrong, and there’s beauty enough in that.

 

 

*

 

We have moved out of our house and into our back yard. With our kid and her kid and another baby on the way, we’ve abandoned the house for them and let them have it. The Woman and I have moved into the little studio I built a few years ago that we have been letting the girl and her baby live in for the last two years. By studio I mean a one-room glorified shed.

 

It perhaps sounds nutty but it’s wonderful really. Another opportunity to toss out unwanted shit, to scale back, to simplify, to downsize. Another chance to change things up, shake things up, take charge, move those deck chairs around. Ignore that gnashing and rending sound as the iceberg peels the rivets off the hull plates, there’s nothing to be concerned about. I built us a loft so we can sleep “upstairs” and have a kitchen and living area “downstairs.” Next up is building a bathroom and closet off the studio,which will get underway this weekend weather permitting.

We’re getting our Tiny House on.

 

*

 

We give up space and convenience and receive in return total peace and privacy and the sense of having got into a very smart lifeboat.

 

Well played, sir.

 

*

 

The great good thing is, as always, my woman. Without whom I would be lost and utterly so. She moves in this world in her own way and it is obscure to me, yet I would follow no other. I can’t even use words. None approach her correctly. She’s as pitiless as space sometimes. Yet she consoles me when I wound myself on the hard edges of the world.

 

If I could figure her out, then what? I’d be the poorer for it.

 

I aim to love her till I’m used up.

 

*

 

namaste.

 

 

***

 

gnawing on it

The-Deep-Water-copy

*

The deep water is unmerciful.

The deep water is unmerciful.

The deep water is unmerciful.

*

*

***

Bitterness and ruin. The self-inflicted gunshot wound of your own life.

There’s a meanness fueled by despair growing in a dark corner of my soul.

***

May I feel this feeling fully. May I take it on without reservation, and may I also have all of the despair and bitterness that you are feeling now or have ever felt. Yours, and yours as well.

Fact of business, would you all please give me all of your suffering? I am suffering already, so pile it on and then you can go on your way a little lighter, perhaps.

And let me give you a little something to take with you in exchange.

Take this small happiness I have.

Go ahead. It may come in useful.

It seems like a tiny amount, but I can give you each the same amount and it won’t run out. Give me your pain, and help yourself to my happiness.

***

My happiness yesterday was a dream. My despair today is a dream. My love, my grief, my loneliness, my strength and courage, my stubbornness and failures, all dreams.

No more to them than smoke on a foggy morning.

The phenomenon of thoughts and emotions arise and I take them as real, as existing, as kind of solid things outside myself or inside myself, but compelling and real.

But last night I dreamed that I was on the deck of a burning ship, flames and explosions all around. I manned a hose, flooding the inferno with icy cold seawater. Hoping I could put out the flames without sinking the ship.

My skin burned with the heat and my hands ached with the cold from the seawater coursing through the thick canvas hose. The ship heaved under my feat, the flames roared, the hull groaned.

It seemed pretty damn compelling.

It’s the same thing when I’m awake. All these events happen and I believe in them. But a little while later, the whole thing has changed, just like in a dream. I was at work, trying to solve some murder. Then I was in the bathroom, giving the grandbaby a bath, trying to hold him still so I could scrub his ears. Then I was in the back yard, fixing the fence, feeling the sun beating down on my neck, swinging a hammer. Bees in the garden droning. Then you were holding my hand. Then I was sobbing and you were angry. Then I was washing the dishes.

On and on.

None of it adhering.

Try to go back and get one of those moments, they’re gone as smoke, impossible to grasp.

Peer into the future and see one coming. You can’t. You’re wrong about it every time.

Just this one moment, arising like a dream out of some vast bed of potentiality, blossoming, breaking, erupting into being, then dissolving away. One after the next, in an endless cascade.

Real pretty to watch, even if it’s sometimes ugly.

Even if it was always ugly, still beautiful and astounding.

*

That’s how I can take all your suffering onto myself. It’s just an illusion. Same with giving all my happiness away.

It’s an illusion, but a vivid one.

A magic show.

*

You don’t need to go around taking it so serious.

I mean, of course, me.

*

namaste.

***

Refuge

shipwrecked-closer

 

 

 

*

 

The instruction is to take on the suffering directly, without artifice.

 

*

 

What I see is how much I make a mess of things by acting unskillfully when I am angry and frightened. It seems so important in the moment to say that hurtful thing, to lash out, to punch something, to flee, to scream, to drink the rest of that bottle.

 

My equanimity is far away, like a ship that’s almost sailed over the horizon, ever diminishing.

 

When I can look at it, I’m ashamed and chagrined at my behavior.

 

I seem a stranger to myself. Who did these things?

 

 

*

With practice, though, there’s a little bit more awareness. Sometimes it comes in time to prevent the unskillful actions, sometimes it arrives in the midst of them, sometimes only in the wrecked aftermath.

But more and more often it shows up in time.

 

Not reliably so yet, but I can see some progress.

 

*

I’m sitting in the burned out wreckage of one of those times when I failed to wake up in time. Scorched wires and acrid smoke in the air, metallic taste in my mouth, my heart emptied out.

 

One more in a long string of failures.

 

*

I think one of the helpful things about my practice is that it points out to me that these things are my own, that they do not come from outside of me. Despite what my ego tells me, they’re not someone else’s fault. It really does arise from my fearful ego screaming to get what it wants, what it demands, and me letting ego have its way.

Like letting a two year old take the wheel. It wants to go to Chucky Cheese, but the little fucker can’t drive for shit and of course he wrecks the car and there’s nothing but blood and smoke in the air and shattered glass and sirens and you look at him all stunned and bleeding, the airbag deflating around his little tow-headed self and he’s like, “the fuck you let ME drive for?”

Good question.

*

So, try to be with the thing itself. Try to be with what’s really occurring, and not so much with what the ego is screaming at you. Tell the ego, “You know what? I’m driving, and we’re going to the store for some groceries, and it’s going to be fine. You settle on down. If you’re nice, maybe you can have a cookie when we get home.”

Then drive to the store, get what you need.

 

It’s not so bad, the way things are.

 

*

 

The other thing is it can be helpful to recognize that everyone just wants to be happy, and all the stupid shit they do to hurt themselves and everyone else is just shit they’re doing in the mistaken belief that it will make them happy, that it will stop the bleeding for a second. They just don’t know any better.

Like me. Like you.

 

So, you have a little tenderness in your heart for them. And you throw yourself a bone, too. You’re not so bad.

 

You’ll do better next time.

 

*

 

namaste.

 

***

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 41 other followers