Something is strange. I don’t know why I’m here. I feel placid and flat in this beautiful country where I feel suddenly safe and the earth is so alive. To live a good life here is to relax, for me it is not so. I don’t find a place to engage. Almost like I am looking for hard work, wanting a trigger. No deep relationship means no complex unsurfacing. I remember when I felt love Change. It went from simple air spreading and moving in and out at every turn to bring rain: not whole and falling but living full in a single drop. Love became in me selective. Selective and cultiavted, crafted out of patience and the diligence of sight. This small surface area came with a bottom I still have not seen and in all honesty I don’t quite believe in. And I am grateful for this. In the clarity of home, this carful deep need feeds and nourishes, prayed for and falling in all the right places, touching roots alive. And here I am roots bound for flight, wings extended and I don’t kno what I’m looking at. It might not be the piece of the puzzle you thought you’d see, but it’s still part of it. Keep learning to see. Already my seeing is challenged. I am grateful and puzzled : in this year of deep dark engagement with the past and building bright and honest home I’ve forgotten loneliness. Here she is. Met on the road again. I might have passed her by, but on this warm full moon night, half drunk on local sangria and strumming a guitar and slack lining under coconut trees, I pick her up. She is a passenger on my journey. And we have a long road ahead.