A commitment to being honest in what I write is not easy.  I wish I could omit entries like the last one.  I wish . . . yeah, beggars riding horses.  At least when I read what I write, the lack of daily writing means that I can see the radical shifts clearly when the truth is that most days I am able to drift along without heaving changes with much regularity and feel the compulsion to write only when I lose the ability to drift in complacency.  I'd like to believe that I am always the patient, enduring, loving person that is the best of me.  My reality and the stumbling humanness that I stare at in the mirror  is the counterweight to that best me.  It is not pretty.

Today, the answer to why I have a practice is that it helps me stop the downward spiral and allows me to remember that the practice is the coming back to center over and over.  And over.