The rain is coming down hard. It sounds like something sizzling in a pan but with cars swooshing by. Ah, and with a bus, braking.
A new thought: The Buddhists speak of walking with one’s death, but it’s really one’s fear one walks with. Meaning: Everything I do is done to clear out a space for not being afraid, for believing that the space I walk in is safe. Which obviously it isn’t. It’s all an attempt to beat back the truth.
This just in from a friend:
Still no word from Nancy. Odd, because at the end of our date, when she asked me if we should get together again and I said “sure,” she touched my arm and said “oh, yay” before leaving.
It’s like we’re playing a game of chicken in reverse. Instead of veering toward each other to see who stops first, we’re veering apart to see who’ll be the first to look back.