Migraine and rainfall

Second back-blip.

For the first three days of the retreat I had a migraine, so my sitting times were full of “sloth and torpor,” as Buddhists call it: sleepiness, fogginess, grogginess. Throbbing head and nausea. So I was glad we did more walking than sitting. At least when I was walking I didn’t fall asleep, and there was all that LIFE. Kamala Masters read a poem by Wendell Berry called “The Sycamore.” Ostensibly it’s about a tree, but for my money it’s about any old being: 

It has risen to a strange perfection
in the warp and bending of its long growth.
It has gathered all accidents into its purpose.

May we all be so wise. Full poem, and it's a terrific one, is here.


It rained, it hailed, and the woods were wet and full of exquisite droplets hanging from every stem and wisp of moss.