Everything we love is an accident that was written in the stars.
Thursday, January 2, 2020
By a river at one in the morning
As I looked out on 2020 I was astounded at how late it had become. Late in the future. Late in the World. Late in my life, even if I am not so very old. And a tiny piece of Buddhism flashed through my heart: Be here now. There is a religion surely written by an old person! You can't be here now. Sure it would be nice. Yes, try for it if you will. But without the past and without the future there is no story. We are as much story as we are water.