They had been hibernating for the past 48 hours, padding across the wood floors in slippered feet: Lounging in pajamas, not really noting the time or the day.  Then it came, as it always does, Monday Morning. 

Waking again at night, or more accurately in the darkness of the very early morning, lathered in sweat, the rise of heat flushing through my weary body. Flopping off the comforter, finding the cooler part of the sheets, swiping hair from the nape of my sticky neck, flipping the pillow, poking one foot out to full cold air exposure.

I have been there for about 17 minutes all told and I have spent countless hours, days, weeks practicing getting there. My formal introductory journey began in the citadel-esque Dorje Dzong building in downtown Boulder CO, home to the Shambhala Center.

The road is dirt, her two companions are large and white and hairy. They are 7600’ above the sea.

The silence is ear splitting when you think about it. Instead, she fills the quiet with vibrating rambling thoughts. At first her ears would