Yesterday my grandson turned six months, so today I am 70 and six months.  The day comes to light early and I sit in the greatest peace. What is this transition from angst at times, suffering, to this unfolding and reception of the light as it feathers unseen wings?

Breath is easy today, trust. Again, why the change?  I don’t know but I felt a shift in my cheekbones when I meditated this morning as though they’d been in a bit of a frown and now were reversing course to shift up to hold all the beauty and giving in living and loving this life.

I’m equipped with hand sanitizer and face masks, none of which I bought.  All are gifts, and I have enough to give away and so we cycle all we share.

I’m reminded of a John Cheever story.  Christmas is a Sad Season for the Poor.  I read it years ago and was struck by how we want to give, and then there is this place to receive, and give again.

The story is different than I remembered, and yet, it is to give and keep the cycle going of giving and receiving, and the light comes earlier these days, and today where I live it’s bright with warmth and sun.  I receive this new day with intention to unfold like origami and return to the blank sheet with which I began. Peace.

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