In Tune With the Storm's Garden (Ponderings About the Neutrality of the Future)

Right now someone is doing something for the very last time. It may even be me. Tying their shoes, cooking lunch, arguing, saying "I love you." It's the calm before the storm. The time when those who will die have no idea and every idea at the same time. They will say and do things that will be remembered on Monday when they are buried.

"How strange that he..."

"She told me..."

"I had no idea that would be the last time I ever heard his voice."

Something will be left undone. Something else will be wrapped up sufficently. Everything will end tonight for someone who did everything right and still died, and for someone who ignored and dies as a result. No one is safe. Nothing is sacred.

Say: I love you. I hate you. I will miss you. I need you. I'll be back.

Fate has you now and you will rest or roam with the answers to all your questions. Even answers you didn't know you would need to questions you never thought you would ask.

And, as much as you will want to tell me, and as badly as I'll want to know -- we can't communicate any longer.

Tonight will be the worst night of someone's life. Tonight will be the best night of someone's life. Tonight will be remembered forever. Tonight will never be thought of again. Tonight.

Forever tonight. Into the oblivion of time either on the line never visited again or on the circle to return one day.

Head to the east. Their sages can save you atop mountains of stone and knowledge where moderation and flow move through the body tuning every discordant note. The music will not fix you. It will not prepare you. It will not guide you. It will only accompany you.

The garden will not soothe you. It will order you. But only if it's in control. The sand, the rocks, the birds, the rake -- but instruments of splendor which by themselves represent only the ability. Combine with capability and acceptance, movement and light, sound and air.

Tonight marks not the beginning or the end, the middle or the prior, the thought nor the afterthought.

It will not be bad. It will not be good.

It will be.

So breathe.

(written while listening to "Mending Your Own Mind" and "Calming Insight of Ourselves" both from Dean Evenson's album Healing Sanctuary while contemplating the coming storms of April 7th, 2006 in the midwest and southeast)