The park is a gorgeous display of the diversity of Hackney in one big, relaxed, exuberant enactment of life under nine and a half weeks of lockdown.

Now is the time to witness the death of the old and get ready to manifest the new.

Perhaps the dead are always hanging around trying to get through to us somehow.

I try to imagine what’s beneath the surface. How deep it goes and what kind of fish and other things might be down there. This is how to exercise the muscle of our imagination to cultivate and maintain a greater perspective.

Apparently I am going to triumph over a cunning enemy. Sounds good! Hopefully that enemy is my own delusion.

Again, I marvel at how many events had to go right for me to come into the world.

Better to live a simple life and focus on what’s most important; love.

Somehow, when there is permission for all of us to show up fully, then we can start to actually work creatively with what’s there.

I open to the sound of bins being dragged across the paving, the truck engine humming, the compactor opening and closing. It’s a rich, textured cacophony.

It is what I rest on when “dancing at the birthplace of emergence” with my own experience, and that of others.

The whole house is still furnished with pieces my mother found and restored. It’s like a museum to her passion.

I’ve had another strong dream, this one feeling like it’s emerged from a layer deep within me I haven’t touched into in years.

Then I look up and a huge wave, bigger than the glass building, dark and threatening and moving fast, is hurtling towards us, growing and building momentum as it approaches.

All this is possible but we have to believe it is possible and we have to trust in the power of awareness. Can we trust that awareness is enough?

I want to speak of grace. How sometimes it comes like a softness in the belly as I move through the kitchen making breakfast.

When we’re almost home we pass a particularly well planted box in front of a neighbor’s yard and stop to admire the lavender, flowering fat and bright purple.

I used to go on a lot of retreats. Now, not so much. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still be on retreat.

The thing I love most about the Buddha’s meditation instructions is that they are also a description of what naturally unfolds when we bring curiosity to our experience.

We take three deep breaths and begin with a poem. Poetry is a great device to help shift and settle disturbed energy.

So again, like so much of practice unfolding over my life, something new is emerging and calling out for attention. Calling out to be integrated. Another gift of coronavirus.