Finding my way back to daily practice is like following altered river banks trying to remember the swimming holes of my youth. The bridges we jumped from without a hint of fear. The sublime melt of being weightless, as our adolescent angst washed away from us (riding bareback with the brookies that haven’t quite yet grown into their colors). The erotic newness of being comfortable in one’s own skin. Tapping into these places and the preserving sap that makes time stand still. I can’t go back--- I’ll churn in these eddies and words until the thrill of the current returns.