When I used to play leftfield the flyball hit high towards me was always a window of pure transcendent bliss.
For the few seconds it would take for the ball to travel to me (and me to the ball) there was nothing else in the universe except me and the ball. Time itself seemed to stand still, and all cares would melt away.
6 Comments:
The complexities of prayer in a closed universe.
Keeping your eye on the ball and prayer - mutually exclusive?
To play is to pray. It's the double-attendre that causes Charlie drop the catch.
Ah, Kim - enlightenment!
When I used to play leftfield the flyball hit high towards me was always a window of pure transcendent bliss.
For the few seconds it would take for the ball to travel to me (and me to the ball) there was nothing else in the universe except me and the ball. Time itself seemed to stand still, and all cares would melt away.
I miss baseball...
Close-in fielders never really have these kinds of problems. No time to think, you see.
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