Not journaling.  Some days it is just that my feet are on the Path.  I do believe I signed up for this–heck, this could be a reward for a previous life struggle.  Or a terrific gift: “You picked the grant prize!!  You get to HUMAN!!!”  And the crowd cheers.

But the belief that I should have a driving dream and maintain a focused spiritual purpose leaves these human days of “now what?  Hmm, whatever.”  A fallow time perhaps, when the soil is left on its own.  Grass, weeds and wildflowers certainly grow on their own.  But there is that muddy messy time.

Here I am in rich mud (aka shit), reveling in the fertilization of my soul.  Reminding my mind (remanding my mind) that doing nothing does not mean I’m not going somewhere.  As Rumi says: “Keep walking, but there is no place to go.”  It is the journey, not a destination.  We live on a globe; the horizon just keeps on moving in front of me–always out of reach.

Thus the path is important today.  Who I meet, the city, the bustle, the dog barking, the breakfast the journey.  And if I really want, I can cry into the pillow of Her arms for some kind of sadness that I am far away from my home.