I woke up this morning with those two words on my lips. I stretched and said it again. Nothing odd about that. But then I listened … to a voice:
“You are dear, Bruce.”
“Uh … yes. But so is everyone else.”
“That’s true. There are many flavours of dearness. Yours is verging on unique.”
“No, no, no. There are lots of people like me in the world.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh’? I’m not special.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But you’re unusual, in a nice way.”
“I suppose that’s true. But I’m not better than other people.”
“I agree. You’re different, though. You see connections that some folks don’t. You’re silly. You’re loving. All in all, not a bad human.”
“Why thank you. Can we stop talking about this stuff now?”
“As you wish.”
And yes, all of this went on in my head. Perhaps I’m going loony tunes. I sure hope not. There’s a lot of living left to do.
And a particular flavour of that living starts tomorrow. At 5:00 am, I head east on the road of life, otherwise known as Highway 3. Many hours later, I’ll curl up under the covers in Utica, New York. On Monday, it’s through the Berkshire Mountains to Williamstown, Massachusetts, where I’ll hunker down for two days. I hope to visit art galleries, meditate in churches, and find the local coffee shop for good conversation. On Wednesday afternoon, I show up at the Forest Refuge near Barre, Massachusetts where I’ll essentially be silent for a month. Many quiet dear ones will sit near me but I’ll never meet them. We won’t say hi. We won’t make eye contact. But I will love them anyway. Hmm … I suppose that’s fairly unusual.
I’ll blog Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and then it’ll be silencio until February 28. Come see me then, if you wish. I may have groovy things to say or perhaps my fingers will begin a vow of silence. Who knows? The mystery beckons.