If I could tell you, I would.
Yesterday, while sitting in a hospital for eleven and a half hours for a reason having little to do with me, I read a book on Jewish meditation by Aryeh Kaplan that was given to me easily a year and a half ago.
It takes a while to get back to oneself. To go within. To go without. To recognize the feeling of the texture of the walls within ourselves, but also to fall forward into a dimension unknown.
I'm thinking a lot about the things that bring me back to myself. But also how my self is shifting.
Something between listening to piano of the late 1800s and Tommy Richman's Million Dollar Baby.
be well; be loved,
k.
[image: Nicolas Régnier, Saint Sebastian tended by the Holy Irene and her Servant (1626-1630)]
