Sunday Morning

Sunday morning quiet is a gift few know.
This seems true because it reflects what it is to be human.

We learn, too often too late. We go, we do, we fret, we anger.

We seldom rest.

Sleep is a gift of course that lets us know we do not rule all.

Letting go and trusting: what -- who -- do we trust?

Trust happens in sleep and maybe the many sleeps of

many years finally sink in and wake us up to our

complete neediness, contingency. Life on the edge.

That is what is real and the most real is the best lesson.

It is Sunday morning and I remember the need:

to be quiet, to receive, to lay off doing so being can breath.