December 28, 2000: Accepting Charlie Brown

The bridges I build are made of the ingredients handed to me each morning at sunrise—wouldn’t you be angry too if the only thing shared was sand? From it, I make glass—it breaks. I add water to create stone—people carve into it. What my goals require is time—time to listen. For it’s the sand once found in a three-minute timer. What we see is time—what we feel is time. A pebble of sand is a rock once held—time created a beachfront masterpiece but not in three-minute intervals of rain, sleet, wind and cold. I’ve met no human who has the heart to locate that much time. The path of pebbles turned to sand doesn’t exist until you find your feet leading you to a proper destination. I no longer sit letting life happen. I participate.