Feet

I did see you Sunday, in the palm procession. you looked like a mouse, or a rabbit, with those huge eyes and that sort of woebegone expression. You look like a Charles Dickens character. I always want to give you a bowl of soup or something. I didn't speak to you or touch you. I chose to ignore you. I had forgotten the one reason we are in this world is to love. We ought to show love at every opportunity. Every moment we have. Me, I thought, nothing has ever come of me showing love in this place. Everytime I put my hand out, my wrist is slapped.

The choir is singing before all of us as we go into the church. My God, it is too cold out here. It's snowing. Too cold for this.

And I am thinking, "Why should I do anything? Why should I even acknowledge him?" He looks as if he needs it, but if I don't do something, someone will. My God, my God, when will I learn. It isn't my responsibility to make everyone happy. This once... I will not do anything. Nothing I've ever done, especially for you, has ever lead anywhere.

Today I read in Sharon Cameron's book:

"Observe the impatience of your mind. Your mind wants to get ahead of where it is. Let me put it to you (plainly)... there is no destination to speak of.." Sister Dassaniya... said, "If you keep your attention on your feet, you can't be conceited."