To Care and Not to Care

 On this day before I turn 38, I sit on a bench absorbing the sun, the wind, the water, the birds, the buzz of the leaf blower in the distance. I withdrew from the world for a bit to this monastic place to empty out. How can I sum up this last year around the sun? It was a fast and slow one. My hands let go of the merry-go-round eventually. Someone else, or Something else was spinning it. Was it our own wailing that kept it going? Multiple times throughout this past year I tried to grasp one of the bars on this merry-go-round. Sometimes I succeeded and rode it for a awhile, but I got dizzy and fell off. I fell off a lot.  I look and see the soil beneath me. It's a little dry and needs watering. Down here, the wailing is quieter, less invasive. I start to notice. I start to see the cracks that are thirsty, the weeds that need pulling, and the areas that need sifting. (Even the Earth groans in our ravage consumption and the sins of our forefathers continue to be reaped). It's ha...