I feel compelled to write something meaningful and clever and brilliant. To put forth a diatribe on a subject so scathingly polarizing that the annals of history will reference it in years long distant from now as a turning point in the evolution of human history. After all, history is made by the acts of one person expanding and becoming greater than the person. Evidence: Rosa Parks. Benjamin Franklin. Harvey Milk.
Alas, my brain has no such grand expositions readily available at this time. Instead it feels poised, waiting for some brilliant revelation. Whereas I know simply standing back and waiting for life to come to me will never get me anywhere, there is merit in taking a moment to stand and absorb everything that is around in a moment of contemplation and, perhaps, meditation.
Consider this my writing zazen.