I had to switch back and forth between “classic mode” and the “improved posting experience” before I could remember which one I liked best. Classic. It just feels a little more personal – which makes no sense whatsoever because it is just a computer screen, but when I sit down to actually write something it does make a difference. Checking email, who cares. Writing, different thing.
I usually write just in my journal. This time it is a large white moleskine with graph paper. I have a Nat Geo photo of a bengal (I think) tiger fetus taped to the lower left hand corner of the cover, and in the upper right, a yogi tea tag that reads “Speak the truth.” Or maybe the picture is on the right side, too. I don’t have it right here in front of me.
I feel like I have written all this exactly like this, if not here, then somewhere else before.
I am eating thick yogurt with thick raw honey swirled in. My son shrieks with joy and waves his arms and my partner blows him kisses. This house is so alive with love – it glows because it is such a home.
In a few days my son will turn 1 year old in the same room he was born in. He will sit in his highchair and have his first taste of sugar in roughly the same spot where the birth tub sat.
We have decided to stay here through the summer and we pick out our seeds from a catalog. this year we will grow tomatoes (black yellow orange), peppers hot and sweet, moonflowers and poppies. I look for holy basil seeds to plant by our front and back doors, by the entrance to the folk school.
Today I walked and walked and felt the sun and made small movements in a room warm and ringed in windows. When you reach completion with this
. . . . come back to stillness.
Practical Redemption 
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