The Stillness of the Walk
The morning was spent in the thick of it. Not on the path, but in the stillness of a coffee shop, wading through a sucking stinking sinking mud that has been my companion for a very long time. I know I am in the wilderness, but the paradox is that this place of my choosing, this natural habitat of the hunter-gatherer, is also a place where I cannot connect. I am an exile who has chosen exile. The very sanity I have found on this journey—the belief that my path is true and the world I left behind is insane—is what makes me so isolated. The clarity I have about my contradictions, the Fatigue I feel from fighting the deeply flawed conceits of my own body, is not a sign of my failure, but of my strength. The peace I am to find is not waiting for me at the end of the road; it must be found right here and right now, in the very mud I am trying to walk out of. It seems I have to learn to be a happy Sisyphus, to find dignity in the struggle of the climb, even knowing the stone will roll back d...