“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.” ― |
Path
Tails. Runs. Paths.
All gateways to divinity.
Thresholds.
During sabbatical I sauntered down many paths. Miles worth. Main paths are okay. But, pathways that lead [safely] off the trail – there’s where mystery meanders.
Tracks in the mud along riverbanks and creek beds – many paths leading to one watering hole – but never the same stream.
Paths opening to canyons – terrain that speaks of indifference, impermanence, and emptiness.
Paths are invitations. To the more-than-human world – our plant kin, our slithering siblings, our Mother the Mountain.
It’s like what David Whyte says about the window latch and how it grants us freedom. Paths are thresholds – the dream ladder to divinity.
Your path is beautiful, too. It may not be my path. Or their path.
Tell me about your path. Give me the nitty-gritty details – it’s rocky, it’s smooth, it’s muddy, it’s new.
I’ll tell you about mine. How it switches back, always towards home.
Paths are alluring. They are what lead us into that Great Conversation.
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