Breathing fast and slow

It is never fun to be sick, and even less so to be sick at the start of the new year. One thinks: " Bad juju ." And, of course, this new year happens to have in it Lucky Number 13, which portends, only for the superstitious mind you (wink, wink), its own brand of negative juju . Lucky me, then, because I got the flu just after the new year began. This means that all of my plans for the new year have been on hold. They weren't inoculated either from the seasonal blight. Recovery has been painstakingly slow, but maybe only because the world seems to move so fast. Or maybe I have just gotten too comfortable with the expectation of being outpaced. Toward the end of 2012, I wrote extensively here about hurting my back during practice. I managed a good recovery, and, better still, I thought I gained some wisdom from the injury. My practice resumed and flourished. Then the flu. Curse or reminder? What is the saying about ''after they've seen Paris?" It's t

I think it is sad that we reserve memorials only for our dead. Of course, we should remember our dearly departed. We should have memorials and services that celebrate their lives. We should work their names into the chatter that occupies us as we do our household chores, or create of them a mental beacon to guide us in our daily travels. We should remember to pray to them and thank them and every so often wish they were still here to enjoy this sunset, that meal, the beautiful face of a child we saw today. But what of all the living? Our spouses and partners, children and parents, family and friends. How do we share our memorials for the living? How do we recount to them all the lessons they routinely impart? How do we allow our experience of them, today, to speak? How do we let them know in life that something they said or did was a little like letting in heaven? On December 8--before the crush and bustle of the holidays descended and I never could quite commit to a few hours at the