∞ Presence

I sat in the warm afternoon sun today, my back resting on the peeling white paint of an old military building at Fort Worden. I was thinking, and not thinking, watching people pass by with their dogs. "What a great weekend," a man said to his wife, hoisting himself into his jeep, planning to come back again.

I have spent time lately metabolizing my experiences. Sitting in the sun, varities of thoughts and memories came and went. I did my favorite thing, which is to lay on my back and stare at the open blue sky for a while.

I've often used this technique. I call it: doing nothing at all.

After awhile, I got up and did some stretching, like eagle pose (which a friend reminded me of), some lower back things. I wandered back to the van and switched into my running shoes and tights.

The day felt like a Bremer/McCoy song, as I ran along the beach, past lovers and families and children amidst the rocks, kelp, and driftwood—up the hill and into the woods.

I'm always amazed, even for someone like me, a person without much going on, few social commitments, living in a quiet retirement town on the tip of a remote peninsula, how hard it is to be present.

Every day is a practice.

And I'm the only one who can show up to do it.