November 1, 2013 (I was 68)
I never could do hard work so I
did easy work. Hark work had no
purposeful end for me. Easy
work had a reason. Something I
made would be fun later. A place
made would be fun later. A place
I invented could be visited
again.
Hard work felt like my life
was ending.
The more I did the closer
it got.
Hard work required a hiding
place.
Sometimes others made hard
work
harder. They required an escape-
ownership of even a moment-
two
breaths, a task at a
distance. Easy
work defined itself, made
itself obvious
without mention. Often I found myself
doing easy work with no
awareness of
having begun. The tools of easy work
are very light. I improvised ways to
use them. It is hard to be the cause
to produce the correct
effect. It is
easy to be the effect that
wonders
at the cause. I wonder at
the cause.
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