I’m intoxicated— stumbling drunk from steamy summer days,  moss covered rocks, the surprising hop of a toad in my garden, cicadas at night, the sudden pain of smashed fingers between boulders I should never have tried to lift. I’m intoxicated by sweat and dirt and worms, by aching muscles, bird songs, butterflies, grasshoppers, and by prayers for my plants— may you thrive in your new home. Ooh, I love these furry bumble bees drunkenly lurching from flower to flower! I’m one with them. When I received the Buddhist precepts, I vowed to cultivate a clear mind, to let go of intoxicants (of all kinds).

I’ve fallen short again and again.