08/31/2023 2 By BuddyCushman

A number of my dead friends came to visit in this morning’s meditations. When I was thinking – during the medition – it was mostly a brand new problem with my car, so I couldn’t say why this particular morning men named Bob and Doug and Billy and Kevin and Bill and I’m thinking even Forrie stopped by. They just did.

Subsequently, my Morning Pages an hour or so later were filled with being stunned I am still here. Stunned that I’m still here to have something go wrong with my car, and to worry. Here to hear a young woman and a head librarian say “Yay” when I tell I’ll be with them more often. Here to laugh at the funny shape someone has shifted my bath towel to. Here to have a German Expressionist art book dropped out of Ebay to my doorstep. Here to have a doorstep, and a sweet neighborhood in which to walk and bow to all the wonder. To read and have no clue for Koans. To remember my oldest son is in Kansas City today, and hoping my high school classmates – also still here – as transplants to Florida survived a hurricane. Here to daydream about walking way out at Little Harbor Beach in my hometown, at low tides, and never reach water up to my knees. Here to be grateful my knees still work as well as they do.

There’s an endless list, and I only had three pages. The word gratitude dances through this love fest, for everything noted, and for sure that I got to meet and know and hang out with those friends so long gone now. There’s a sacred obligation – a kind of vow – to carry on for them, and I’m doing the best I can, kids.

I’m dazzled, this morning, I’m still here.