Friends,
The last Sunday of July. The year is more than half spent, and the old voice asks whether we have done enough with it.
Eight minutes tonight. 8 PM your local time. For the length of this sitting, let the question go. You are enough. This is enough. The evening asks nothing more of you than to be in it.
Because the practice moves with the hour, it is always eight o'clock somewhere. A rolling wave, once around the Earth, every week.
Come as you are. Even unfinished. Even unsure. Even enough.
See you later, in the silence.
Dedication: May we rest tonight in the sense that this, right now, is enough.
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