I am buoyant and expansive and uncontainable--but I always was so, only I never knew it!

Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder.

Fennel, which is the spice for Wednesdays, the day of averages, of middle-aged people. . . . Fennel . . . smelling of changes to come.

But maybe as I get older, I begin to see beauty where I least expected it before.

I am buoyant and expansive and uncontainable--but I always was so, only I never knew it!

There was an unexpected freedom in finding out that one wasn't as important as one had always assumed!

How can I forgive if you are not ready to give up that which caused you to stumble?