Today I was walking along the water in Sausalito when I paused to observe the bay being dredged. A huge metal bucket dipped down to lift a shovelful of mud, then turned to deposit it on a barge. With each lift, water dripped out, as well as a great deal of mud. It wasn’t the most efficient operation, but mud was being cleared so boats wouldn’t get stuck.

Meanwhile I was thinking about the creatures who live in the mud. What is it like to be lifted up, held on a barge, and redeposited? How is it to fall back anew to where you were before? We each have degrees of movement and relocation each day. How is it to witness each lift and drop, each step, touch, breath? How is it to meet each moment new? Can I be open to the journey’s eye, the inner-outer beat?

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