Raw, adjective: 8. brutally harsh or unfair; a raw deal.

Essence is emptiness.
Everything else, accidental.

Emptiness brings peace to your loving.
Everything else, disease.

In this world of trickery emptiness
Is what your soul wants.

-- Rumi, from "The Pattern Improves"


My Mac crashed Wednesday night. Hard drive wiped out. Nothing. Nada. Vacant. Nobody home.

Including the seven or so (not backed-up) chapters I'd been editing before plugging them into my (backed-up) 300-page book manuscript. Including all my photos from oh, the last 3 years. Including my iTunes. Including the vast thesis research I'd been planning to back-up as soon as I got back from Florida.

Sweet Jesus! The universe has a sense of humor.

So I've had a series of hot dates with the dudes at the Genius Bar, with more to follow today, in the naive hope that a desperate dream called data recovery might reunite me with my old Diana Krall albums and my research on Jesus's homoerotic relationships with the Beloved and pics of HW and I singing "I Got You, Babe" two weeks ago. If it doesn't happen today, my friends, it's called: new hard drive. Empty screens. No browser history. A fresh start.

The Greeks had a word for this emptying out: kenosis. It's big in theology, across traditions, actually, this whole goal of stripping down, emptying out, filling that silent still space with air and spaciousness and the transcendent hope that some kind of divinity might rush in.

It's ironic; I've been feeling mad blissed out lately, blowing through book after book on Buddhism and yogic theory and non-attachment and emptying out and acceptance and divine leela (the idea that it's all play, it's all God, it's all beauty, even that garbage heap on the corner or the annoying lady who answers the phone at the office). And feeling so enlightened and badass and meditative and peaceful and HELLO, world! So naturally, what comes next? An opportunity to practice that, for sure.

So I'm off to practice kenosis, and meanwhile, might be quiet for awhile. It's been remarkably refreshing, actually, to wake up and not rush into my morning SFGate and NYTimes fix. Do I really need to read 17 reviews of the new Sex and The City movie, or more bad trend pieces from Thursday Styles? Probably not. I feel achingly wonderfully still, and have been reading and thinking and breathing and doing yoga and spending hours with my friend's little snoozing baby on my belly, and dude, maybe that's some kind of grace. Cutting the cord to my morning news fix. And, er, online episodes of "The Bachelor."

So I'll see you when I see you. Cross your fingers.

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