Tuesday, March 16, 2021

Shut away in my room, the day waits outside the door. I approach it as I would a garden or a field. It is my destination; I am not yet there but must travel to it from my resting place.

The world is already upon me, here while I rest on my cushion. There is no time of preparation, it is all time of action. I inhabit but one moment: now.

Lord, let me cease my futile hiding. The present always finds me.

(#2,257)