Number 62.

I use the busride to think. Mostly maudlin bullshit. Faux profound. But still.
This afternoon, on the 62, I thought again:

Attachment,
Non-attachment.
Desire is pain.
Desire is beautiful.
How to reconcile these?

How to be utterly non-attached, but still entwined in the beauty of his cheekbones? How to feel the throbbing pulsating Utter connection I feel when my mother holds me? How to feel, like I sometimes do, like flinging myself across the earth, arms outstretched, hugging the mud and the roots of trees?
I love it here.
I love the ones who're with me. And some that have passed. How to feel them across that divide except through my awful Missing?

How to be an environmentalist, to care, to feel pain, to scream, if I am non-attached?

And yet, how to be peaceful?
When every desire, every beauty, every thing is transient, fleeting.

I have to learn how to look that in the eye.
I can't, yet.