I climbed in bed next to my sleeping love. His arms and hands reached out from the mist of his dreams, found and pulled me close, and he kissed my forehead. Like always. I trust in this unconscious action, in the feeling of his sleeping hands knowledgeably traveling the curves of my body. I trust in this simple thing like I trust in the sureness of a breaking of a wave on some distant ocean shore.

“Take care not to let your hearts be troubled.”

Perhaps the author should have spent some spent time in Tibet, with the Buddhist sages. Perhaps he may have found another way to put things: “Take care to not let your hearts be troubled, or entangled, or attached. Also, perhaps you ought to take care not to take care at all. Perhaps you ought to prohibit your emotions and let nothing put you on edge, nor in the middle. Perhaps you ought to just not do anything or be anywhere at all.”

Perhaps there is a way to plug up the heart, so that it cannot feel, cannot heal, cannot take its part in the endless cycles of emotion and demotion.

Take care not to let your plans become a beautiful mirage in the desert of uncertainty.