JEFF BUSBY CAMPGROUND, NATCHEZ TRACE, MS—As I hiked up a trail this morning—uphill—my mind generated thoughts on projects and ideas and problems. Some I’d record, some I’d dismiss, some were just noise buzzing and trying to stress their importance—but for the most part, maybe because the trail was uphill and thus more strenuous, the mind held reign over my attention.
At the end of the trail, at the top, at an overlook with placards on the area, I read the history of the forest and wildlife and recent changes occurring (many, surprisingly, for the better).
I want to spend more time in Emptiness—to better help Michelle who is tasting it, and to help soften this old-hard-Wayne-thing with its 50 years of rationality and seriousness and knowing and perfecting—50 years of constant conditioning hard-wired into this ugly mortal thing.
I don’t really like this Wayne-thing much. It’s a pain in my ass, but I seem to be stuck with it.
So as I walked back down the hill, down the road and not the trail, I expanded and opened and the boundaries between me and the fall foliage and the sky and the road and the grass faded and vanished and all was God and there was no “I” walking, just walking—just a movement, a current, a tide—all happening within God Herself and I fell in love with Her all over again.
I am a Mystic because I see God everywhere.
I am a Drifter because I live nowhere.
But, when I walk in God, everywhere feels like Home.
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