Randy writes here far more than I do.  This would be funny, since I am the one who set up the blog.  But those of you who faithfully read his entries are blessed with a view of this man that few know is there.  He speaks with a simplicity and authenticity that is beautiful. He is beautiful.  So it is not funny he is the primary voice of this blog.  It is a blessing.

Good morning, by the way.  It is Sunday, and I sit on the sofa, looking through the bay window, past the front porch, to a huge beech tree that reigns over the front yard.  Though we officially moved here weeks and weeks ago, the reality that this is Home has only recently been assimilated internally.  The awe is not lessened by familiarity!

Old age, meaning of life, definition of "human"...these topics are representative of filters through which mundane and profound experiences pass as they are processed into the core concept of Self.  What is human, for example?  To err is human.  To be "only" human also implies an imperfect state.  How often, painfully often, I berate myself for this imperfect self whose years are barnacles dragging down a hull already low in the water. Part of this self-flagellation mirrors regrettable memories from childhood. But part also derives from a surprising source. Idealism. There is a creature called human, but there is also Human, first letter capitalized, characterized by nobility of purpose, purity of heart, and of humble nature.

Little "h", Big "H".  Striving to be one, inescapably both.  Now, with my thoughts devolving into the babble of monkey mind, I leave you, friends and family, to continue this Sabbath on the front porch of Home, where breezes brush aside leaves to carry birdsong over treetops, and the day's sermon is delivered wordlessly to a quiet mind.

Peace.