Yellow Birds, Slow Buicks,
on an Ordinary Thursday
Awe, grief, and the gifts you almost missed
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A tiny yellow bird landed on the hood of my car. I had no idea what kind of bird it was. I had no idea it was about to change everything.
When my son died, grief stretched from horizon to horizon. There was no edge to it, no place where it ended and I began.
We picture meditation as silence. A quiet room, soft light, nobody asking anything of us. But real life looks a lot more like the Paris subway.