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I sometimes wonder if “cultivating bliss” isn’t the wrong approach. I think that would be my wife’s position on the matter. If you are trying to be happy, there is a measure of falsity to the endeavor. It’s not organic, but imposed. 
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Therefore, suspect.
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Certainly any attempt at cultivating bliss that insists or tries to insist on bliss being some kind of constant state must be suspect. But given a field that is barren and weed-choked, is there not some benefit to clearing away the weeds, amending the hard soil with compost, and planting some vegetables and some flowers? 
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That’s what seems a better approach to me. 
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Still going to be worms and gophers and rabbits and birds, and not enough rain or not enough sunshine sometimes.
But go on out there anyway.
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Pull a few weeds. 
Prop up the tomato with a little cage for it.
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Get a floppy hat and a book and a drink and go sit out there. 
Listen to the birds!
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I am an anxious creature. I’m always after it, like a dog with a bone. I can’t barely sit still for three minutes in a row, but you’re lucky to get any real work out of me. I’d rather pace and whine, wring my hands. 
Peace like a river in my soul.
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Not hardly.
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But at forty three I am learning, by god. The great blessing of growing older is the way things moderate. I mean emotions primarily. I know if I feel bad I’ll feel better in a little while, even if conditions don’t change. My mind just can’t keep it up forever. It’ll get distracted by some other condition, start obsessing about that instead.
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I am not my mind. 
I am not any of the things I am so convinced are me.
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I am some other thing altogether.
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So are you.
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The tearful dishwasher made this for dinner:
Zuppa di pesca alla Romana and a roasted beet salad with caramelized onions, feta cheese, and toasted pine nuts.  A bottle of Castoro Zinfindel to go with.
A hard little loaf of crusty whole grain bread.
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This is the kind of meal, when you are stove up somewhere dying all alone, you’ll say: “Well, at least I had that for dinner one night.”
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That shit was good.



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Namaste.





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