Today was like a shadow. It lurked behind me. It's now gone forever. Why is it that time is such a difficult thing to befriend?
--Mary Casey

Each passing minute is all that we are certain of having. The choice is ever present to relish the moment, reaping fully whatever its benefits, knowing that we are being given just what we need each day of our lives. We must not pass up what is offered today.

Time accompanies us like a friend, though often a friend denied or ignored. We can't recapture what was offered yesterday. It's gone. All that stands before us is here, now.

We can nurture the moment and know that the pain and pleasures offered us with each moment are our friends, the teachers our inner selves await. And we can be mindful that this time, this combination of events and people, won't come again. They are the gift of the present. We can be grateful.

We miss the opportunities the day offers because we don't recognize the experiences as the lessons designed for the next stage of our development. The moment's offerings are just, necessary, and friendly to our spiritual growth.

I will take today in my arms and love it. I will love all it offers; it is a friend bearing gifts galore.

     I found this question ironic and synchronous as well as I had just received my weekly homework assignment to construct a photo montage from images compiled from my hands, old mining machinery and some stock photo of some fire.
     I felt this best described my poor, long abused hands and my long standing relationship with touch.
     For years I had played a guitar and loved the callouses that had formed on my fingertips over time.  Then, I would take long breaks from my beloved guitar and the callouses would fade, soften and disappear, much to my pain and chagrin when I would wrap my fingers lovingly around the frets and neck of my Martin.
       Many years ago while at The Meadows I was tasked with being blindfolded and only getting by with touch alone.  Quite enlightening, to say the least.
     I found that my relationship with touch was such a grounding effect in my life that I was reacquainted with my fingertips once again.  Feeling my way down hallways, stairs and doorways was like open my eyes that had been blindfolded.  Rather odd, nes pas? 
     And then, along came this funny little assignment to make a montage of fingertips and fire alongside rusting machinery.
     My relationship with touch was rekindled and found to be one loving and deeply rooted in every day life and every day extraordinary life as well.