it seems to be impossibly beautiful tonight. peepers and toads competing in evening song–almost like vespers in the stillness.
i could not put myself to sleep. the evening was calling me, as if personally to come and to witness the moss like leaves against the black velvet sky.
i could barely see anything–an occasional acorn fell to the deck and yelled–”it’s almost over, my friend–grab as much of this as you can.”
but the beauty in the night won. i did not stay wrapped up in the dismal facts of life. i rose my head above the fray and called back out of my own silence–”not, yet god! not yet!”
i think it heard me. i think that god responded,
“you are right, fat albert, I am not ready to take you–but don’t think you have a great deal to do with the timing of such things. don’t fool yourself into a melody of illusions.”
so, i took my pen and went back to the blank page that I had started with. i had even less ideas now that i had had this little conversation with the universe….i sat back closed my eyes to the most holy night and let the sounds of the lake carry me back to the arms of my mother. back, back, back–further still until all there was was darkness and the smell of mom’s powdered face against my cheek.
soothing the night, i left the darkness, left the grimacing thoughts of my impermanence and savored the perseiden sky & the aroma of camping fires in the woods near the edge of the lake that had become my home.
Dr. A. L. Dussault, Mindfulness in Psychoanalysis