The house on a Sunday morning, sun climbing in the sky, kids asleep, dogs stretching in the original down-dog yoga pose, cats blinking, never admitting they were asleep. Warm cocoa, buttery toast, hard-boiled egg and the satisfying crack and peel to reveal its soft white flesh, soon to be accented by jagged white salt crystals.
A NYT obit of a Zen priest, author, fisherman, secret agent, friend, lover, father, betrayer, success, failure. Life ended by leukemia, the last battle. Zen quote about not clinging to life contradicted by son’s quote about his father’s struggle. Where the acceptance? When the letting go?
An email late at night. My own letting go of an obligation that no longer serves. A return to undisciplined spirituality, to finding god in the moment, in the sunshine, in the song.
The children still sleeping. Keys’ slow staccato breaking the silence, so I let them, too, go quiet.