When I cease from thinking

When I am in the realm of feeling and not in the realm of thinking, thinking, reacting, reacting reacting, time broadcasts a completely different range of inbound signals.  Time hits your brain and your skin and your gut and your libido and your joyous joust with interesting problems in a different way.  Time is a series of musical pulses, overlaid and sotto voce with the breath and breadth of the human voice, deep voices and silvery, hard voices and soft.

When two people I love, or three or four, are engaged in conversation, there is a deep and thankful part of me that does not need for a moment to know what the content is; the sound and intent of their voices is like a deep and healing balm for my soul.

And thus it was at the last day, and in the last hour, when we sat at the Golf Course and spoke of mean things and great, and drank beer, and endured rain, for the sake of the rainbow.

In the moment I decided to quit, there was a rainbow.  In the celebration and farewell, there was a rainbow.

Make of that what you will.

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Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

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