Not yearning for autumn yet

The real secret of life is that there is no single secret. There, I’ve gone and let the cat out.

But, if there were one it might very well be what’s been called the gift of the present. I awoke this gorgeous morning– it’s a perfect 70 degrees Fahrenheit, calm and quiet by current standards, just the birds and a few early-bird cicadas and now a jet overhead– humming JT’s ballad and recalling Matthieu Ricard’s discussion of “golden time.”

Those whom summer’s heat tortures yearn for the full moon of autumn

Without even fearing the idea

That a hundred days of their life then will have passed forever

Buddha Shakyamuni’s epigrammatic poem is perfect for now, on the cusp of summer. It only really begins tomorrow around noon, when school’s finally out for the kids. We’ll do our best not to waste it.

Tags: Matthieu Ricard