Happy Happy Gus

Gus is a happy betta this morning. Gus has new clean water in a clean bowl. Gus is wagging his fins and tail happily. Gus even smiles at me when he comes up for air. I feel like a good little boy for figuring out what Gus needed before told me by turning upside down.

Today I started revising one of my short stories. Bit of a tough slog, that, but I got the first couple of pages down, and that's a start. My instinct is that I've only just begun to climb this hill of fiction writing, though I've done it off and on, mostly off, for close to ... uh, I'd rather not say how many years. I remember a similar slog when learning to play an instrument. It was effortless to hear the music in my head, I just needed years of study and practice to figure out how to make it come out of my hands as well. And I have ideas for stories, even novels. The trick is to discover the way to make it come out on paper in ways that will grip a reader and make them not want to let go even when it ends.

All of this is on my mind because I spent much of this afternoon reading advice from writers and editors and publishers and such about how to write well and market the result. Ah, I always did like Kindergarten. I always preferred to stand at the bottom of the slide and see if I could climb up its slick surface. Way too easy to just climb the stairs in back and slide down, fer cryin' out loud.

For those doublessly not interested, the second exercise paragraph will have to wait until I convert it from open source to Microsoft's proprietary doc format, which I may never do now, as I'm absurdly, irrationally mad at Microsoft for not supporting Open Office docs natively when you open Word. C'mon Redmond. You guys should be way better than that.

Liberation Road

Greed has imprisoned us. United we can liberate ourselves!

Despite the rain, the community garden is progressing quickly. Huge boxes have been built and I'm curious how they're going to be used. Compost? Raised bed gardens? Coffins for giants? Time will tell.

The most interesting thing going on here, other than daily work on the Tumbleweed Cabaret web site (not complete, so no public link yet) is something I probably shouldn't mention. Suffice to say Lizzie and Baba will return to what I'm sure will be a pleasant surprise, courtesy of our Holy Road Gardener, Mike Clark.

Okay, the first of a brief series of exercises I did recently in an effort to find the "voice" I'm looking for for my novel. Each day I'll post a new one. Each is only a paragraph long and each is entirely different from the others.

I.
Wednesday was for him a slightly strange day, a day not quite like the other days. For one thing, it was the day his Auntie Bell invited over her friend, an older women wearing a pink and lavender flower print dress and rather grand hat with a long needle that went all the way through the top and seemed to pierce her head. When she arrived, breathing heavily and perspiring, the first thing she did was pull the long needle out and hold it in one hand while removing the hat with their other, waving the brim briskly in front of her face while chattering loudly to Auntie Bell. Mikey couldn't take his eyes off the needle until she had reinserted it in her head, primped her hair in back, and turned to him. “Oh my goodness!” she gushed, taking one giant step toward him and advancing on him like a Patton tank, grabbing his paralyzed frame in both hands and planting a massive wet kiss that seemed to cover half his face. “Isn't he just the cutest little thing!” As if suddenly rising to the surface of a slime clotted lake after nearly drowning, Mikey was careful to hold his breath until he could reach up with his arm and wipe the wet from his face. The guest, who had retreated an enormous distance by then, said, “It's all right dear. Bell, what an an adorable child! Is he Meg's? Your grandchild?” She then tottered off to the kitchen for coffee and pastry and rarely ever gave Mikey a glance after that, to his great relief.

Potluck Wednesday at the Holy Road House

The last couple of days has been all about cooking. Cooking food, cooking up ideas for how to improve the House. Yesterday I cooked up not one but three quiches. Denise dropped by and we shared most of one, fresh from the oven. Yum. Today is potluck day but I thought no one would show up. But Pam called and came over about 6 p.m., then Bean walked in the door. I made my first ever totally vegetarian stew and it turned out great. Scott Wilson and Kaos both called, checking in, saying howdy, and Kaos says he'll drop off a disc with photos on his way to work tomorrow so I can put them on the web. Made an appointment with Matt to mix the Cabaret audio this Saturday too. Bean is staying upstairs the rest of this week. The three of us talked about the coop, the "collective", a term Bean used and it felt good so I used it too, what it means to us, what we hope to contribute and get from it all. A good spirited discussion, even with just three of us. We miss Lizzie and Baba but the House has its own spirit which speaks to us and through us and affirms the vision of lives made healthier and more fulfilling through cooperative and creative efforts.

I shared a couple of my stories with Pam, who was an appreciative audience, and I sent her off with a copy of "Rabbit's Story". She is struggling to create too - compositions, the passion of her youth, as writing is of mine.

We grow creatively by doing and by sharing. Cooking, sharing, eating together. The Holy Road House and the emerging coop makes this all much easier to do. I thank the spirits of north, east, south, and west once again before going to bed.

Groundbreaking Monday

This morning the Community Gardening folk showed up and got down to it. They hammered together three large boxes, in which I assume they will pour dirt and plant seeds. Very like the way I'd like to do our garden, but they are doing it on a large scale. They also tilled the soil all day and well into the evening. It's going to be some garden next door, count on it.

It seemed a long day today in this huge quiet house, too quiet, so I loaded WinAmp and my favorite "XRG-Radio" playlist and let it play all day. That helped, but not enough. I was at odds with myself and found it hard to focus. But tomorrow is another day and I plan to make the best of it. I also have a small gig with Hilary in the afternoon, and playing a bit of music has always been good for me - it clarifies the soul, you might say.

Empty House Syndrome

Baba is in Brooklyn (I think) and Lizzie is on the road to points east, especially to rejoin Baba and perform the Cabaret. Darhma Dog is riding with her; both are watching out for Officer Hagerty and hiking and driving. Me, I'm alone in this huge house for the first time.

I still feel like I'm getting used to the place - still finding myself here. And making that happen means developing my daily routines - writing, meditating, yoga, cleaning up, doing laundry, fixing meals, finding places for my stuff, much of which is still scattered on the floor of my room. But every day I feel more at home, more a part of the place and the movement behind the place (which I'm also still discovering and I think partly defining along with Lizzie and Baba and the Garderners).

But today is Sunday and I was up late last night playing a gig with the Hilary Scott Band at the Martini Bar, and I'm feeling mostly lazy. And it's Earth Day, so it's as if (in my imagination) a huge part of Columbia has turned out to celebrate my birthday today, and I have yet to wander down to the party, where, quite appropriately and with the exception of a few friends, I will be completely ignored. A fun little zen fantasy, then.

All I've done today that's useful is work on setting up my workstation and wash sheets from last week. Tomorrow the real fun begins, including morning writing, vacuuming the house, finish stripping beds and doing laundry, putting things away, and working on the Tumbleweed Cabaret web site. And except for some of the grunt work, it's all fun stuff. I still start my days here with a smile and whispered gratitude given to all four corners of the compass. Our new lives and emergent realities best begin with moments of thankfulness and with smiles, preferably with laughter. The curious effect of all of this for me is that I feel so much more relaxed around other people - more than I have in years. I feel so much more real.

All quite amazing. Thank you Lizzie. Thank you Baba. Thank you Holy Road House. Thank you Alisa and James and Alysia and Ron and Brandon and Mike and Bean and all the Holy Road Gardeners and Denise and Joni and Alicia and the ghosts around me. Life has gotten so very much more interesting.

Antibalas Has Left the House

I've never made pancakes for a dozen people before, and I've never seen them devoured as eagerly or as fast as this morning between 9-10 a.m. These guys were up and showered and fed and on the road by 10:15, and we had handshakes and hugs all around.

Lizzie was up late - very late - until everyone had come down from their performance highs and crashed. She apparently had friendly words with our local constable about the jamming going on in the back yard in the middle of the night. Officer Hagerty may haunt her, but I'm pretty sure this one was friendly enough.

Then back to work on the Tumbleweed Cabaret web site and other odd jobs, after picking up the Spit, which just got an oil change.

The tension of the day, which we always managed to turn into fun work, is that Lizzie is leaving tomorrow, hittin' the road, adios amigos for the moment, and there's so much she needs to do. But we decided this morning that as every moment is Now, that the time between starting a job and finishing it must be Now, which is the same Now as Now, and therefore of infinately, unmeasurably, short duration. In other words, all of the work is already long done, and we're running around, busy as hens, remembering that it's already done.

And I can't say that's much easier than actually a doing the work. But one of my favorite zen sayings is, "work without doing!". So easier or not, I think we're on the right track.

Antibalas is In the House

Tiring but amazing day: the band arrived about 2 in the afternoon. Seven or eight guys with large bags and cool gentlemanly ways, on the road for the last three weeks at least. Lizzie gathered them around, gave them a whirlwind tour of the house, took a walk downtown with some, and the rest of the afternoon they settled into claiming bed and floor space, e-mail checking, baths, and cool conversations. They're an Afro-dance horn band from ... all over probably. They're playing as I write but I caught their first set. Eleven musicians on stage, great energy and rhythms and horn lines and solos - couldn't ask for more.

Finished a story I like this morning. Posted it so some friends can give me feedback but I've already edited it and now must update my post. Lesson: don't be hasty with posting stories, even when I think they're done.

All this means Lizzie and I didn't make much progress on the Tumbleweed Cabaret site today but we did work on the story over breakfast which was much fun.

Groggy and tired tonight - today all day really. Denise came by and treated me to a birthday dinner at Murry's - a real treat and delicious, but I'm rather happy to report that my stomach has been shrinking and smaller meals are now more satisfying than feasts. Then she went to rehearsal with the Alan Beason Big Band and when she was finished we went up to the Blue Note for a bit of dancing and jiggling to Antibolus. Hope I'm spelling the name of the band right.

Night all, must sleep now.

Groovy Tuesday

Here's what I learned today, or rather relearned, as I knew this but had forgotten it: it's possible to do work, useful stuff, things which build an organization, and have it be as much or more fun than "play". Which, of course, it becomes when you are blessed with an opportunity to do tasks that feel meaningful. It helps if you also know how to do these things and can therefore not sweat bullets to get them done.

So that's how my first real "professional" day at the Holy Road House went. First I created the broad architecture and data relationships for an online tool to track projects and measure the contributions and resource use by each coop member. In effect, to create our internal barter and currency system.

Then this afternoon I worked with Lizzie to design and build the splash and menu pages for the Tumbleweed Cabaret web site. It's still being designed, so be patient if you link all the way down into it -- the pages probably will change. But Lizzie and Baba and I were all excited that by the second day of our planning and structured work week, we have already built a new web site and have a strong beginning for one of our most important management tools.

Then the universe rewards us with a brief but refreshing night out. My friend Bruce Poe called me to say he had won two tickets to the Old Crow Medicine Show at the Blue Note, worth more than $20 each! and would I like to have them because he can't go? Duh, yes thanks! They are a five-piece string band doing energetic hoedowns of old time and jugband and bluegrass style and originals and the place is completely packed. We enjoy a set and the retire, old fogies that we are, to the House for peace and quiet. Actually it was getting late and very hot in there and ... well enough excuses. We went, we saw, we were briefly awestruck as is our wont, we returned. Sort of like the description the Tibetan Buddhists have for our incarnations on earth. Get born, squeal like pigs while jumping up and down, get tired, do other things for a while, then fall over and return to the bardo, the mental place between. Or not.

So, a productive day that's also a fun day. Let this be the pattern, thank you very much.

A New Kind of Monday

G'morning love, I walked to Lakota this morning and explored the charms of a 21 chapter outline, poured what I know of the Lazlo Kovaks story into it to see how it fit, and it seemed to fit, and walked back and lo on the seat of my scooter, a gift from Denise - a keyboard and mouse for my downstairs PC. No more pulling the plugs out two or three times a day and plugging them into the other machine to either write or to check e-mail and blog. I am so grateful, as i say and sing each morning upon rising and walking.

A nice bit of business planning and thinking session this morning with Lizzie, then grocery shopping and a bit of cleanup after lunch with Lizzie and Mike Cooper and Bart Bean and spirited conversation; work with the interns a bit and they're great: they sweep the floors and stairs and get out stains and I do the kitchen and bathroom and the house is feeling better by the moment. Then to work on house biz, right? But my good friend and former bandmate Shane Ferguson calls and drops in. He needs to know the three chords he's making on guitar - bar chords with the fingers in an E position, so what is this chord? Well, I say, it's an A. Then a C. Then a G, then a D. And he checks and, yes, behold, the progression is A C G D all right, how cool!

And a nice chat and Shane offers to make his famous home-made apple pie for our Wednesday potluck and I'm excited because I've had his apple pie, see, with ice cream no less, and you bet I'm gonna get those apples tomorrow and have them all cut up for him Wednesday afternoon.

Nice visit and Shane finally leaves. Back to work, right? Back to the task at hand, back to House biz. And the doorbell rings and it's my friend Brian, who I have not seen in many too many moons and have missed and we hug and talk and talk and talk and go downstairs and listen to the entire C3 show from last week and talk and talk. And finally it's well after 10 p.m. and I realize I haven't done this evening's blog yet.

So here I am, wrestling with a straight keyboard when I'm so used to the split one and my fingers don't quite know where to go yet. And the lesson of the day seems to be, live it moment by moment. Instead of planning the House Coop today, I spent it doing it. There's always tomorrow for the rest, right?

I yam grateful, so grateful, so grateful yall ... night night.

Cooper's Landing Kind of Day

Baba is off to the east coast this morning - early this morning. Lizzie said there was some confusion about his flight, but that he finally caught it okay.

After a week of cool wet weather, we finally got a break. Sunny, temp maybe 60 degrees or so, so Lizzie and I hopped in the Jeep and headed down to Cooper's Landing to catch IlyAimee, the duo from Baltimore our friend Suzibird is friends with. This, it turned out, was a Very Good Thing to Do.

I took lots of pictures with my cell phone but don't have the cable at the moment to load them into my 'puter, so I'll have to add those later. The music was wondrously good: a guy and a girl, both sing and play guitar, and she plays jimbe, and they do all three with amazing skill and style. They're on tour, these two, and drove in last night from Boulder, and they're on their way to St. Louis and points east, if I have it right. Acoustic originals with a distinct driving acoustic funk-rock style.

During their set, our old river friend Sparky launched his houseboat - a huge thing with murals painted on the sides, very styling river cruiser. It was a little distracting, watching this big thing inch its way down the landing into the river, and again I got cool shots of the whole thing and I'll post them when I can. Very colorful. The band was very game, making supportive comments and not visibly put out because their audience kept looking to their left to see the launch.

Mike Cooper video'd their show and burned them a DVD of it within an hour after it was over. All high-definition video at that. It's remarkable how high-tech Cooper has become in the last year or so.

Back to town so Lizzie could take a walk with the Dharma Dog and I could scoot off to Hilary Scott rehearsal for a gig at Martini Bar this Saturday night. Fun, sunny, relaxing Sunday today. But we both miss our Baba -- Lizzie doubtless more than me, but the house is altogether too quiet without him. I promised him I'd blog daily while he's gone, so some of them may just ramble on about the house and the day, and that's no doubt okay.

From His Ashes Another Legend is Born

Sad news today, at least sad in the sense of "what a loss for me! I'll never get to see his smile again!" Truth is, while I'll miss Bob Dyer, one of Missouri's finest musicians, songwriters, historians, and Great Friends, I don't think I'll have any trouble recalling his warmth and his smile.

So Bob has passed, from the corporeal to the legendary, and halleluja to him! I wish him the best in his journey to and through the bardo. He's gonna leave quite a few souls there chuckling with his stories, I have no doubt. See you in the next round, Bob!

Here's a link to his bio page on Big Canoe, his publishing entity. And while this page, Eye Candy for Missouri, isn't his work (it's a gift to us from the Missouri Folklore Society), it so much reminds me of Bob and his passion for Missouri history, especially the history of the Missouri River and the Booneville, MO area.

Meanwhile, back here at the ranch, things are hopping, but when has it ever not been? Lizzie and Baba are hard at work, and I mean hard at work, editing video material of the Tumbleweed Cabaret (shot by Scott Wilson) in preparation for Baba's trip to the east coast next week. These guys never slow down, much less stop for a breath, yet the nature of their work feeds so much energy to them, to us all, that it's like standing in Tesla's legendary lab, electricity popping all around you and all you have to do is reach out a hand and smile in order to see real lightening.

So, for the moment, the best I can do is stand back in awe and be supportive as much as possible. Doing laundry, sweeping floors, cooking. Beats computer programming by a country mile. ;-)

C3 V17 Performance Rocked

Actually it was more like it "jazzed," but that doesn't quite communicate the beauty and excitement of the night. Too bad Phil couldn't make it, and Bob, but the rest of us, along with Pete Szkolka, played what was for me an amazing if relatively low-to-medium key night of keyboard heavy, swirling and driving rhythms, melodies, and harmonies. Fine applause (thanks!) after each jam, all of us surrounded by the most amazing blacklight-enhanced paintings. After everyone left this morning, I went to the basement and played back the whole night's music. More than once.

It's still magic, folks, after all these years.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, it's time to start kickin' it hard, creating the reality that flows from the vision. I (we) have a huge DO list that gets longer everyday. It's mostly little things like, oh, helping artists and loving people in our community to free themselves to follow their bliss; facilitate the formation of a loving cooperative community that spans the globe, each energy contributing to and multiplying the energy of the others; find ways to do all this sustainably, with appropriate technologies, integrating the power of symbols and myths into our daily lives, learning to breath properly. Little things like that.

See ya on the rainbow slide!

C3 Plays the Holy Road House!

I'm very proud to be associated with the Holy Road House, as anyone who knows me knows all too well. So it's a special honor and privilage to host C3's Psychoto-electro Arkestra here tonight. We're featuring local hero Pete Szkolka as guest artist, and will be spotlighting (literally) the artwork of Tim Spurling (I hope I spelled it right, Tim). And if you're coming tonight, we have a surprise for you.

Prepping for this show has kept me distracted and busy, and I've missed some evening blogging. Baba's parents came down this week from Wisconsin. Their goal: enjoy the mild warm Missouri Spring weather as well as visit, tell tall tales, make us all laugh, and much more. And wouldn't you know, as soon as they arrived the weather turned cold. Shivering, freezing cold. But they braved it all with good humor. Very kind and fun folk. I very much enjoyed both Nancy and Joe.

Given all the excitement, my morning writing routine has suffered, but I had a good moment yesterday when I found myself sketching the outline for a new short story, or maybe not so short a story. I never know until it gets going, and this one has enough twists and turns and a large enough arc to be quite a bit more than a short story. I'm still teaching myself this stuff, the craft of story telling. Quite the challenge but the morning yesterday felt like a real success, a breakthrough even. I took as my inspiration Isaac Asimov's advice to writers, "Start with the ending first, and work backwards." So I outlined my story from back to front, which felt very odd indeed at first, but which very much did the trick. Thanks Issac!

I celebrated with a small breakfast at Ernies on the way back, then into full prep for the show.

A Short Song

This morning I read a very short piece I wrote. Lizzie and Baba were enthusiastic, so I thought I'd share it here. It's no big thing, just a tiny exercise in placing my mind to a new place. In this case, I wondered what might emerge if a spider could speak her experience. It turned out that she didn't speak, she sang.

Spider's Song

our home this bell inner shell curved well of love babies strung beads across center motion clapper sways rocking our children with ringing love as we collect meals sweet meat of flies torn life giving flesh no strife we live short sweet lives our home a shell of warmth and motion and song

we know not of others but as selves as one as food we love the bringers of blood for our children their final moments a chorus song of ecstatic singing agony we hear love with each tug and vibration we thank them-us and sing back their lives to them we feel as they feel as we are all one song life unto death unto life and yet again the vibration of eternal strings

our children stir and pour forth a flood of smallest silent clicks on shell of home we see and almost feel them crawl over and around and past us waves of waves of smallest blessings each one and all turn in alarm at brightness and heat as they reach outer rim and feel air pick them into its arms and carry up and down and all directions are one direction spreading collapsing union separation entangled in so many arms at once

and our mother odor leads them back now to tangled torn web our joy to spin to wholeness as over and again we learn to talk each to the many and our loving food hosts always to each of us feed our dreams the dreams we love we love we love

Basement Venue Emerges from the Dust

This week has been all about preparing the basement of the Holy Road House for the upcoming C3 show, as mentioned in earlier blogs. But tonight it really came together. The PA and monitors are in place and tested, though my monitor amp doesn't seem to work. But I can borrow one for the show, so no worry. The Holy Road Gardeners gathered tonight for some of Lizzie's great soup and Pam's rice casserole, then we all went downstairs and found ways to improve the space. The result is just amazing. In a couple of hours or so, we put up lights, installed dividers and curtains around unsightly fixtures like the furnace, and best of all, cleaned up and organized the outer pantry/laundry area.

Our new friend Tim came by to see about hanging some of his art work on the walls for this Saturday's show. Word is they are black-light friendly, which fits the mood of the basement as well as C3 performance style. More about that on Friday when he brings his art over and hangs it.

The news of the week for me is that we (Denise, her mom and brother and I) are booked to fly to Hawaii on July 18 for Joni's wedding and two weeks in paradise. It's one adventure after another around here these days.

Lizzie loaned me a book I had read probably thirty years ago and which arguably changed my life then: Illusions by Richard Bach, author of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I can't put it down. It's the story of a reluctant messiah who barnstorms the Midwest US with a biplane, giving ten-minute rides to rural townspeople for $3.00 each. The book is once again making my brain glow a bright orange and may, as it has done before, leave me at least temporarily incapable of feeling negative about anything. It, like so much media I find today (but this book is thirty years old!) is affirming the C3 core concept: thoughts are things. We create our own reality. What amazing times to live in as the stew pot of transcendence grows to a boil.

Anti-Entropy in Action

I know it must get tiresome to read, blog after blog, "I've had such a wonderful day!" No one can have a good time all the time.

I had another great day today.

But for a little different reason than my usual. Today I began to see the basement of the Holy Road House emerge into a livable space, and one where we can make great music - and will this Saturday night with the Convergence Conspiracy Collective's Psychoto-electro Arkestra.

It's a teen dream lounge: private, quiet, TV and VCR and DVD and surround sound music. Double bed and couch and coffee table. And, in the same room (hee hee), a performance stage and recording studio! How cool is that!

Okay. But I'm not a teen, at least not in years. But I am a musician, and I do like movies on TV and a place to, you know, relax and stuff, and this place has got that happening. And it's just dusty and messy enough to be truly comfortable. So I guess that tells you what kind of slob I must be at heart. I admit it and I'm not ashamed of it.

I also assembled my new PC up in my room this morning. Doesn't work yet, but hey it looks so cool with its Ninja blade logo over the side fan, its ultra hotrod CPU and all black and shiny chrome case. I felt the way I used to feel as a kid in my room putting together a new plastic jet plane from a kit, patiently applying the decals with my glue-smudged fingers. What joy.

So if it's good to feel like a kid once in a while, then this was, you know, a really great day.

Who Would Have Thought

I had an amazing day today. Specifically a couple of hours this afternoon at Scott Wilson's, C3's documentarian. But even more amazing and fulfilling was the fact that I was able to come home and share my excitement with friends I love. That's the best part of this story for me.

Scott had asked me to come over for a "talking head" video session related to the Convergence Conspiracy Collective. He had no specific idea what I might talk about, and neither did I. I approached it the way I approach our Psychoto-electro Arkestra performances: as pure improv, trusting the moment to manifest what was right for that moment.

And of course it did. I spoke for maybe ten minutes or so entirely in the voice of Lazlo Kovaks, the subject of the unfolding tale, Where in the World is Lazlo Kovaks. "I" just went away. Turned over the stage to Lazlo. Let him enter my body and mind and speak with my voice. It went so perfectly, as how could it not? It was Lazlo. He knows what to say. He remembers it all. He spoke without a break, without hesitation, emphasizing certain words and phrases to bring certain ideas to the surface of our attention. He was the timeless master. All I had to do was let him speak, and listen and learn.

Then I changed my shirt, shifted the point a view a bit, and let Michael, the protagonist of the tale, the one telling the story to us all, speak. He was not Lazlo. He was Michael, a mid-thirties vagabond writer chosen by Lazlo to tell the story to the world. Michael is finding his way, a little hesitant about the whole thing, still not ready to understand or buy in to the more amazing aspects, but too much the pragmatist to ignore the facts either, however fantastic. So Michael spent a few minutes, gesturing with his hands, not always able to look into the camera (unlike Lazlo), telling how he met Lazlo, what he learned from him first-hand before Lazlo disappeared.

Okay, I've now acted two distinct parts, allowed myself to become two distinct people. I'm now me, whoever the hell that is, and I now understand a couple things I didn't understand before I went to Scott's. One, that I'm able to suspend myself and immerse myself in my character, that I'm able to act. Believe me, this is a revelation coming from someone who became convinced in his youth that he could not act, could never act, could never get out of his own head long enough to let a character emerge. This is an amazing revelation to me. Second, I glimpsed what I suspect every actor experiences: a fine, momentary transcendence, a liberation of self, of personality, which comes with this kind of surrender to an Author. It doesn't matter, ultimately, Who the Author is. It could be this person I think of as "me". It could be some other. It could be the voice of the universe speaking to us. It has been all of those at one time or another, I think for each of us.

So I came home amazed and high and grinning. Lizzie and Baba were generous and centered enough to hear my story and to respond with celebration.

Beware: celebration happens here.