bushes and gypsies….

I was just out trimming a number of bushes in Kate’s yard – in preparation for a new windows operation early tomorrow – and helping some to earn my keep for days past and days remaining here in a sacred space of generosity in Milwaukie, Oregon.

I’ll be off in an hour to make the drive to Gresham and spend the day with Spenser – days with Spenser numbered, decreasing in number quickly. Make the best of them, Bro, I tell myself. Be gentle and loving and affirming. Tell him “You got this”, exactly the way the Universe has been telling me you got this these nine weeks now.

I was out walking five laps on the lopsided track around the corner and down the street from Kate’s house early, just after six, and on the first or second time around I realized that I had exhaled. I’d stopped with the kind of frantic, surely urgent, next right thing act after act which has been under my highest high beams for two months. And that all kinds of crazy thoughts I’ve entertained and danced with and even sobbed with these last couple of days were me letting out my breath – breath its feels like I’ve held for what seems like forever. And it came to me I could see the plan for me – my plan – going forward. Clearly. And it came to me that I could go back – or even ahead – and fix stuff which may need fixing next week or next month or next Valentine’s Day. What’s permanent these days?

The first day, the very first day of my divorce, Gavin in Oakland pointed out the Fleetwood Mac song “Gypsy” to me – and how that exactly was me that day and the days coming. And after I while, a day or two, I understood. And I for sure get it right here today, as laps have been strolled and bushes have been trimmed and my son’s waiting and it’s come to me the only business I have with the world today is to be here now.