I believe in the flesh and the appetites, seeing, hearing, feeling are miracles, and each part of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from.

Uncle Walt Whitman, spent a good deal of time, loving his body. Some might call it a waste. Or frivolous. Perhaps not very industrious. He was said to watch the clouds pass by for long hours of time.

Yesterday I got sick. A fever. Long day of fever. The only thing I ate all day was a banana. Whilst I slept and lay, slept and lay I gave my body a small day off from the myriad digestions. It only had to consider one thing all day. The banana. For a stomach entrenched in queasiness it was a fair choice.

The banana. There happened to be the right one available. Ripe, but not too. Just the right amount of black spots. Yellow, but not too. There was no need to break the peel with force. It came willingly. The inner fruit revealed no bruise, but one, down at the end. It took a long time to eat it. There was no hurry. I was happy and satisfied at the end.

So I take that I had a banana day. Fevers. Flushes. and one Banana. Dreams too. My own spot of clouds I got to watch as the world disappeared and I lay there with me, my body. Letting the achiness make a cleanse of my organs and skin and spirit too.

Today I sort of miss the simplicity of my banana day. More to consider: yams, dried blueberries, lemon balm tea. I think Uncle Walt might agree with me that a little can go a long way. Sneakily I think he would also agree that sometimes a lot is glorious too; alot of clouds on a long, sunny day.