While walking from my car to the sidewalk i tread on maybe 500 blades of grass. Each has changed from seed to sprout and thence to stalk - wonders I can barely imagine and will never understand. Their kith and kin surround me, and give life to the air I breath.

Aware of inhaling, my lungs lift higher and fill, and empty more fully than when ignored. 'Ahhhh'' exhalation, softly ecstatic, as close as a breath when I remember to open my awareness.

If a tree falls in the forest is there sound ? Are there footprints from Naomi's solitary walk ?

In 1990 or so I practiced continuum in various forms for maybe a year, twice a week. What I learned was this: To open to the that which moved within me, through me; To permit what wanted to move to do as it wished, and not give a damm how I looked, immersed in wakeful abandon.

It is that deep root which sourced my now fading reputation of being an "amazing dancer" - that I didn't care if I was, or was not; I still don't agree with the feedback I got, as it wasn't "me" that danced. "I" just got out of the way.

One of my tantra teachers taught (Ha! I'm alliterate! ) that the real stuff, the transformation, the energy - it happens in stillness. After the effort, after the sweat: the fertile dark of a seed underground in the spring.

Sitting yab-yum with a cloud, or with you , moving enough to be supple and firm, aware of breaths weaving a reed basket to contain maybe 500 seeds.