If one year ago, an omniscient being told me how many meditation hours I would proceed to bank in the months to come, I would have called bullshit. I was a logical sceptic at heart, valued the scientific method as a basis for my beliefs and was totally allergic to any ritual or ceremony that could be considered “mystical”. However, much thanks to a particular author and podcaster, I slowly became open to the concept of meditation and was convinced enough to give it an honest shot.
Pink wine has never been more popular than it is right now, nor has it ever been so uniformly boring. Like any style of wine, modern insight into winemaking has rendered the best examples “better” than the category has ever seen, but even many of these reek of winemaking apathy and taken as a whole they are disconcertingly narrow in their stylistic spectrum.
One night last week, I awoke at 3:30 a.m. to the sound of my elderly dog maniacally running around downstairs. She’s good at letting us know when she needs to be let out in the night and I assumed that it was no more complicated than that. In fact, despite being quite deaf, she knew that there was a skunk in the yard and her previous altercations with those striped bastards hadn’t successfully dissuaded her from making conspicuous attempts on their lives.
Hell - there’s volcanos on my mind, and I don’t usually spend much time on this geophysical phenomena (oh, sure I do - who can resist the allure of "liquid, hot magma"?). Current news of the devastation suffered by people in Hawaii is hard to not feel, as for anyone suffering a natural disaster. Volcanos are just another manifestation of the power of Nature, and we can only view it with awe as humbled humans faced with things that money, politics and faith have no power to change or prevent.
