So here I am, a little piece of protoplasm infused with the endless curiosity of spirit slugging through the morning like, well, a slug.  I refuse to get up and put my glasses on, so I’m squinting at the screen and making all sorts of typos. 

The Pacific northwest has lots of slugs–in fact when I first arrived many years ago, I swear I saw a slug race–about 10 big wet mush slugs traipsing across my path.  Well, smushing across the path.  They barely move…but get where they are going all the time.

So, like them, I will get through themorning, to the afternoon and another dreamy night to wake again rubbing the sleep from my eyes and traipsing through the dark house to the kitchen.  To be here at this little laptop, spilling my human/spirit slushy guts.

So much for spiritual inspiration today.  My God loves us slugs.