The Practice

Farm truck, Rte. 22 A

When I meditate.

I sit up in a chair, where I am most comfortable.

I keep my eyes open, looking ahead and down at a 45 degree angle.

I take breaths, and count to 10, counting off at the very end of each exhalation.

If I lose track, skip ahead, or  forget my count, I go back to the beginning.

I sit with my hands locked, thumb to thumb, in my lap.

I pay attention to my breathing, not my mind.

I try and not judge my practice. There is no success or failure, no right or wrong. Just what you do.

I meditate every day, faithfully.

It is changing me.

Rose's life

Many people ask me how Rose is doing without sheep. She is doing well. (We are going to be working with sheep in a few weeks – more about that later).

She watches the road carefully, looks out over the valley, plays with Lenore, sits by my side as I write, goes for walks in the woods, chases the frisbee. I do miss our adventures together, although I am writing about them quite a bit. She is healthy, and seems content to me. Vigilant as always, and having three other dogs to keep an eye on keeps her busy. She is a wonderful creature, and I always smile when I look out and see her watching me, as if to remind me of our nights out in storms, chasing off coyotes, birthing lambs, catching geese, fending off rabid feral cats and raccoons and wild pigs, getting me up when I fall, plowing through blizzards to get the sheep down to the feedes, fending off the donkeys and the cows, who did not always like her.

For some years, Rose and I were alone in the storm that life can be, and it will always be one of the most powerful experiences of my life. It is reflected in her eyes, and the way she looks at me. Well, well, she seems to be saying. Remember what we did? I do.

As always she fits into my life and helps me live. She inspires books and novels. She loves Maria. She watches over me, as always.