Can I tell you a story?

One night in Brussels, I was in a bar talking to a young woman. We drank the night away, closing the place down. We decide to go back to her place and watch a movie.

I’ve always loved nights in Brussels. It’s a city of quirks and contrasts. There’s an air of anticipation, longing, serenity, to the night of that city.

We get back to her place and she pulls out a movie (Shrek?) We watch for awhile, I wrap my arms around her, and…

Now, at this point, you’re probably thinking you know what will happen next. And you’re right. Mostly. Remember, chehaw is involved, and chehaw can tease something different out of most any situation.

Writhing and holding and touching commenced on the couch. And that moved into her bedroom. And lots more writhing and exploration took place.

In the midst of, in the throes of passion, lust, hunger, it happened.

The epiphany.

Yes, while I’m looking up into her eyes, the thought of a lifetime hits.

This is how good life can be.

It’s not that I’ve never had that thought. It’s that I’m having sex, not thinking in abstract philosophical realms.

It’s a moment, peculiar, odd, endearing, that I remember vividly now. With a knowing smirk on my face.

I also remember walking home. As the sun was rising over Brussels.

To understand zen, from our friend Mr. Coelho…

Yesterday was a very instructive day.

I had an argument once with a friend. I said I wanted to increase my awareness. She said I was aware enough already.

I let a couple of things at work slip by me. Nothing major, just embarrassing. What happened? Simply put, I let my attention slip, and a couple of small errors were made.

I fell off the zen.

Today, I’m back on. Chastened? A little. More aware? Totally.

That the surface isn’t important. It is.

To a certain extent.

But what lies beneath the surface–the root, the foundation, the soil–is key.

I don’t want to give surface emotions to anyone, especially to someone I care deeply and richly about. I want to give them my root, my soil, my foundation.

Again this morning, they came. They have been fairly quiet recently, here and there. But this morning they came.

The pulses, the waves, that signify the presence of someone in me came as I was still this morning.

I can’t conjure them. I can say the name of the presence, and that won’t draw them to the fore.

They come and they come as they please. They simply are, and I allow them to be. I’ve never attempted to banish them, or punish them.

They simply are in me.