This is how it feels: wildfire winds of change, yes, but like many growing things, my heart can resprout from its roots. All the broken pieces send up their own new leaves. Open ground creates room for opportunity: I find joy that would otherwise have been hidden from me.



Because the gods are not afraid of irony, or perhaps just because cyclicity is such a fun word to say, some of that joy and I spent yesterday baking pie. Lemon merengue, yes, and french silk, and a few batches of butterscotch cookies just to round things out. By noontime I was oversugared and happy. In the afternoon, I learned how to change oil, smashed under the car because the jack was lifting the back where he was fixing the muffler. The wind sprayed rivulets of draining oil into my face, smattered my hands. Later, after we went dancing, we had an impromptu pie party with a pile of friends. In the middle of laughter, I come to myself, shaking into the realization that truly, I am happy. More: I am content, satisfied with this life as it is. There is a sharpness to that, of course. But it is nonetheless true. My confirmation from Tassajara came the other day; I will be spending some five months there in the summmer work-practice, starting just after I graduate. So start preparing yourselves now: there are no computers at the monastery.



There is grease still in the creases of my hands, and my body is sore from twirling. Yesterday, there was not a cloud in the sky, but the wind made my chimes sing all day. Qué milagros hay.