Rain Washed Air and A Soft Pink Sky

To demand "sense" is the hallmark of nonsense. Nature does not make sense. Nothing makes sense. - Ayn Rand in the Zen Calendar (April 9, 2003).

Day 263. I just finished a twilight walk. The day's rain provided a long overdue rinsing of the muggy, smoggy atmosphere. I walked and breathed. Breathed and walked. Witnessed another brilliant sunset. It broke apart the heavy rainclouds, shredding them into lacy pink swirls that looked like soft pink cotton gathered in an east Texas field and strewn across the western sky.

I am empty of words after yesterday's purge. Wrung from reflection on the Jefferson trip. Saddened by my friends' departure tomorrow. Blogging sometimes fills me with words, while sitting fills me with emptiness. Blogging helps Do; sitting helps Be. It has turned into a really good combo.

I fear that if I continue, I may write something smarmily fluffy, filled with bunnies and roses. Fortunately, my friend is waiting for me. The one consumed with passionate despair over separation from her husband. My desire is to sit her down on the cushion next to me and teach her to breathe. To connect with the spirit of love that pervades the galaxy. To renew her hope and restore her soul. To help her make sense of a man abandoning her for alcohol.

She doesn't want to sit on a cushion. She wants to hear nurturing sounds interspersed with foul-mouthed agreement over what a schmuck her husband is. I will provide what she wants rather than what I think she needs. But I'll probably mention that to demand sense is the hallmark of nonsense. Nature does not make sense. Nothing makes sense. Not even a lifelong friendship like ours.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc