Flowering and Fading

Somehow, I had a good day. I spent time online with my friend Virginia (she’s now nine years old!) developing a story about an Emerald Dragon and a girl named Amy. I had an excellent conversation with my Besties about democracy, and exchanges with other friends near and far. And I walked in the canyon late in the day as the sky turned dusky.

We also had a chat with Felix, whose antics delight me more and more, especially now that they are accompanied by words––his language is suddenly blossoming. His exuberance and wonder enchant me, and I miss him with an almost physical kind of ache. I mentioned to my friend Dan that I don’t know what to do with all this love, and he wrote, “I think having that love opens your eyes to the everyday beauty you experience and makes that experience even more exquisite because we so vividly see its fleeting nature. Our job, as artists, is to make ourselves vulnerable, to see flowering and fading all together, as Rilke says. And so does Thich Nhat Hahn, and about every other sage I know.”

I am following the suggestions of the sages.