A Trust Exercise

IMG_0020I love that image.

It feels exactly like my last few weeks, when I’ve been groping toward a light I’m not even sure exists. Sometimes, I call this activity pleasure. At other times I call it madness. Occasionally it’s like pain, but really, that term is indulgent. It isn’t real pain. It’s only frustration – a sense that I’m not big enough or smart enough for the task.

The task?


The problem?


I have to learn to trust that the ladder I’m climbing, flimsy as it might be, will ultimately lead me to my destination. I have to trust that the light shining from that window up there to my right is the one that will illuminate my story. I have to trust that when I look in that window, it will be just as I imagined – even if I didn’t know what I was imagining. I have to trust that I am writing my characters home.

So the destination – if it actually exists at all! – is trust.

And what I need is trust.

It’s a conundrum, this writing caper. Its ways are mysterious and oppressive, expansive and solitary. It’s a kind of lunacy sometimes. And tonight, they’re predicting a Super Moon. Maybe I’ll go out into the dark and howl at it!

It couldn’t hurt…

Could it?


May you be standing on a clear straight path in bright sunlight, with a map in your hand and plenty of stamina in your legs.

May the roadsigns be clear and the going easy.

May you find your way home before dark.

Walking on earth

I have written of Thich Nhat Hanh before, and I know many share my gratitude for his writing and teaching. Patty Fawkner is among his admirers, and she sent me these words of his. I’m indebted to her, because I hadn’t read them before, but feel they could have been penned just for me. Straight to the heart. I hope you feel the same way…


People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle.


But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth.


Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize:

IMG_1087a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves,


the black, curious eyes of a child —

Image 1_2

our own two eyes.


All is a miracle.


IMG_3355IMG_3360IMG_3277_2Thanks to Patty for the reminder of everyday miracles.

And thanks, as ever, to my feet, for taking me to see so very many of them.

PS – I’ve updated the Events and Media page, so there are links to recent podcasts and videos etc. It has been a busy time. Gratitude for that too! For so much.