Morning meditation: “It’s just another ding-dong day” (dreamed a tidal wave swept over San Francisco, higher than the Transamerica Pyramid, I am riding a surfboard, hanging ten, singing, “It’s just another ding-dong day.”)
One of those days. Cat put out, mice long gone, sit down to contemplate my navel, end up picking lint, scratching my stomach.
So long enlightenment. Think of The Tibetan Book of the Dead & pick up yesterday’s newspaper to read “Dear Abby.”
All day stretches before me, could be a vision of eternity but appears blank, just an endless to-do list.
I contemplate my next life as a Bodhisattva. Now I embrace my dirty laundry.
