“Don’t let all of this go . . .”
A letter to myself from summer, setting down my intention from the mindfulness class.
“Don’t let it all reduce itself again . . . “
Keep checking in with myself every single day. Take a friendly interest. Bring by a covered bowl of vegetable soup, the carrots celery cabbage calmly chopped, the herbs making my fingers sing with their intensity, their purity of heart. Go out to spend some time breathing. Watch a small dog wagging itself silly—the perfect way to be. On rainy days like this one, set a fire dancing on my big computer screen and read P.G. Wodehouse for a spacious humorous hour. Make French press coffee; order pears by the dozens from Harry & David to cheer the coming weeks. Invite friends out to lunch (Korean barbeque; hand-cut Italian pasta; chopped Beverley Hills salad at the quirky Stanford golf course—gorgeous old generous oaks holding court there above the world). Plan for a desktop Christmas tree with lots of lights. Listen to roots reggae or plainchant.
Don’t let it go, any of it.
image: She Who Is