"The wanderer crosses and recrosses borders in order to find something whose location is unknown and unknowable. She will conclude she has found it not by its location in a certain place, or by its confirming a prior belief, but by how it feels, how it resonates within her upon her discovery. She doesn't know where or how or when clues will appear so she wanders incessantly, both inwardly and outwardly, always looking, imagining and feeling. The wanderer cultivates an openness to mystery and offers her attention to the edges of thoughts, dreams, feelings and to the borders between place and between events. She's aware that anything can happen at anytime, and that every moment is charged with the numinous. In her wandering, she makes her own path." -Bill Plotkin Nature and the Human Soul
A handful of fresh dirt and pine needles in my hand, I inhale a deep cleansing breath. Beach. Waves. Light rain. Driftwood and Che by my side. Smiles. Deep breaths. Minnesota Point; for 12 seasons I have loved her, and with every barefoot summer and frigid winter I welcome her changes as I welcome my own. Two Canadian geese honk in the bay, 100 sea gulls circle overhead, squealing and spinning in a dizzying fashion, ascending and descending over my head. I release two wood ticks from my pants back into the grass, 5 crows fly by low to the ground sharing in a loud cacophony. We may get rained on. Thunder rolls in the distance. Right now I am alive. Waves tap gently against the shore of an overcast sky, ants navigate the driftwood circumference of the medicine wheel, Che catches flies with his mouth; his jaws closing intermittently with a resounding snap. We share trail mix laying in the late May sun, my hammock hangs in the distance between two birch trees. No cell phone. No Facebook. No talking. No one can reach me. My feet are dirty, my hair in a bandanna. The only thing to do here is be.
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