Really, I’m fine, thanks.

No, I wasn’t Looking at the car door. I Ran Into It (see below). They should rename the Boxter “Bruiser” and sell idiot insurance to the owners.

The only thing I’m still bewildered about is the fact that the first thing that came out of my mouth after hitting the car was, “Is your car all right?” Twit.

Could be the meditation. This week was transformed by 2 hours on my knees Wednesday at the Society of Friends Quaker house on Fourth Avenue. Try thinking of nothing for two hours sometime. It’s hard. But so, so worth it. Admittedly, my silent mantra to fight back the noisy mind-chatter was somewhat self-indulgent. I kept repeating: “This is my time. This time is for me. This is my time …”

So when the lawyer guy opened his door in front of me yesterday on Maclaren Street, I was OK with it. Even though if Wednesday evening’s sit showed me anything, it’s that I remain far from Enlightenment. I blame Porchlight.

So I rode into work today more slowly. Observing. Observing.

Meditate. It has to break you before it works.

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