Thing

In the mailbox this morning: Rise to the moment you are in. You hold the key to the room you are in. It doesn't fit the room you were in yesterday (or even a moment ago), and it doesn't fit the room you will be in tomorrow, any more than the path of the Colorado River will cease altering the Grand Canyon.

The watercourse leaves no stone unturned. We are all rolling stones. What is “special” about any one of us can't come through when we're trying to “do” special. All flowers are flowers. Anything with a name is a “thing.” Word is a thing. A tree is a thing until it isn't a “tree.” A rose is not “a rose.”

Being embraces and engenders becoming. How old is this moment?