The first seed catalog arrived yesterday. Just as i was settling in to feeling the grief of the old garden, the major distraction of new life, new seeds arrives. It feels like getting a new puppy the day the old dog died.
Desire lands on the cover, turns the pages, egging me on to look, look, look, and buy, buy, buy. Distract myself from the ceasing of the old year, the old growing season. Paying as little attention as possible to the ceasing, focusing instead on the arising of desire for rebirth.
Can our between-lives (bardo in Tibetan) be any different?