Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 161899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 809(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 809(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“If I bring the late-night snacks, you up for a visitor?”
“Moses and me are snuggled in for the night. But I can always use one of Tex’s coffees to start the day.”
“I’ll meet you at Fortnum’s. What time?”
“Nine.”
“See you there.”
“You got it, Auggie.”
They hung up.
Aug put his phone on the charger.
Then he looked out the big window in his kitchen that had the view to his neighbor’s garden. A vacant lot in a popular neighborhood they’d bought decades ago and transformed so it was part flowers, part vegetable patch. It included an arch covered in vines that bloomed all summer and a tiny koi pond with a fountain.
Probably one of the most expensive serene spaces in Denver, because that lot should have a house on it, and it was likely taxed like it did.
But it was good for Auggie because it was a great view.
And he needed a little serenity because the dark was surfacing in his brain.
A dark he never let rise.
Or it would consume him.
Possibly annihilate him.
And like always, he had to fight like hell not to let that happen.
Chapter Six
Yet
Pepper
It was five days Post Auggie Being A Dick.
Sunday.
The first of my two days off in any given week.
Juno and I had been to church that morning (our church). Now, she was down the street at my neighbor Jenn’s house making cupcakes with Jenn and her two girls.
But Jenn had called a bit ago, they were almost done, and my daughter was going to be home soon.
So I was in my bedroom on my cushion at my meditation station.
This was not me-time.
This was my daily non-negotiable purposeful time.
It wasn’t about de-stressing and confidence boosting (okay, it was, but it wasn’t just about that).
It was a part of my existence.
If things were different…
Like Corbin hadn’t cheated on me and I hadn’t been solely financially responsible for myself and my daughter (right, not solely—Corbin paid child support for Juno, and I used all of that for Juno, but we could just say I thought I’d be in a life-partnership situation with man and family…and I was not).
At the same time providing her with an overall life where she didn’t have to worry about Mom making ends meet. A life where she had good not only because her dad helped with that, but because her mom took care of business (all of this being what led me to stripping).
If I did not have to see to all of that, I would open a meditation studio.
And there, I would offer to others what I received from the practice. I would create and provide a place people could go in their day where they felt better for having been there.
Of course (as dreams had a tendency to do), I had it all thought out in great detail in my head.
What the entryway would look like, the music playing, the neutral colors, the plant wall.
The roomy, airy single meditation studios you could rent where you could select the music, the scents, the lighting, even tapes of guided meditations if that was your gig.
The group meditations being offered that would focus on different things: anxiety, sense of self, intention, creating a personal mantra.
And the yoga that did good things, as yoga always does, but more, it built your spirit, your awareness of your body and bringing balance to it to assist in bringing balance in your life.
I would sell teas that did not make any claims, they were just good teas.
And I’d offer cute clothing in all sizes that you felt good in and could be comfortable in.
And awesome bolsters, cushions and mats, candles and mindfulness gifts.
And I’d be one of the teachers giving classes.
Some versions of my dream had an additional sunshiny room filled with healthy plants, comfortable chairs and some tables. A place where folks could meet. There’d be a bar where I’d serve awesome smoothies and delicious teas and interesting coffee drinks, and folks could commune in a tranquil place. You could bring a journal, a book or a magazine, but no laptops or phones allowed.
My best, biggest, brightest dream versions had a garden where I’d also offer classes.
Maybe a Japanese garden (with a definite Zen element).
This was my dream.
This was also my spirituality.
This time belonged to me and it belonged to God in the personal way I thought He deserved.
I was not unaware this was a leftover of my upbringing.
But when I’d left that life, I did not turn my back on spirituality. I’d always felt very centered in that, even when I was younger.
It was just that I did not understand why anyone would follow a god that held some down (the women) while he lifted others up (the men). A god who turned his back on some of his children (gays, non-believers, those of other faiths) while promising to shower abundance and eternal life on others who toed his supposed line. A god whose fire and brimstone, judgment and hate outweighed his delight in his creations and his forgiveness, acceptance and love. A god who people could use to act on the former without giving thought to the latter.