Blissful Sunday

Today was blissful. I woke up tired and groggy, drank bitter coffee on the couch with my incredible lover, had brunch with an old Chicago friend who introduced me to the mystic poet Hafiz of Shiraz, received life advice from Hafiz, spent the afternoon reading sex books, talking to my house-mate Nia, going with Jessi to a delicious desert oriented dinner at Mac, Chad and Chris' unknown named house, studied words, ate nachos, and slept again. Before the dinner I sat on the porch with Graves and talked about her trip to Chiapas to the Zapatista language school. There, the anti-capitalist movement seems unencumbered by the sectarianism and compromises of the U.S. Left. I spoke to my friend Lorraine who told me my friend Stacy was getting married in July. I spoke to Stacy and she confirmed the details. She called me later and said how important I am in her life. She can barely imagine how important she is in mine. We are close friends who have seen each other in almost every conceivable type of situation.

I love my friends, poetry, and possibility. A day as blissful and insightful as today comes rarely in this grotesque world. Crimson roses bloom. Furry babies pop off our peach tree. The world is incredible and well worth saving.