"Man is made of dreams and bone."

I thought of Dave Mallett's lyrics yesterday (from "Garden Song") as I limped around, my torn meniscus apparently aggravated by my sitting in the lotus position as I meditated, so my knee hurts today. I noticed it twinging near the end of my morning sit, but I thought I could tough it out. Apparently a mistake. My existence in adverse juxtaposition. Just when I thought the yoga and sitting were working together and I felt almost like a yogi.

Today I feel like Yogi Berra must have felt after a long day of catching for Whitey Ford or Don Larsen. (Old man analogy, I know).

And I feel a tad disappointed. Brought down to earth, so to speak. Reminded that just because I want to be something, really want to be, doesn't mean I can get there without effort, or ever. Life, I'm learning, not for the first time, is a process of aspiring tempered by reality.

I'm made of dreams and bone. Mind and matter. Gnosis and knees. Trying to be who I am without settling for less.

Until I reach the point at which I stop trying because I finally am. . . .