A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.
If all you can do is crawl, start crawling.
Your mind, this globe of awareness, is a starry universe. When you push off with your foot, a thousand new roads become clear.
Still, I sit, waiting,
wanting the thing to move in me.
To move me. My heart used to be
an engine. Now it's a leaf,
sitting on a pond, waiting for wind
or a surfacing fish. Take it
somewhere, attach it to a tree again.
These last few months, it's been hard to push off of my own volition, but something stirred me today. Maybe it was the wind. I was up at the lake for a picnic, a big picnic full of fellowship and the wind was fierce, my hair blew into all kinds of curls and my skin was washed with air--summer's over, I thought, briefly. And though it's normally Spring that offers renewal, with my birthday in the fall and Rosh Hashanah near my birthday, there's a general trend towards newness each fall. During college, we used to start late September, so that also gave a new sense of fresh chances each September.
And all the leaves, working so hard to stay green through the heat of the summer, get to turn these brilliant colors and fall away--they, we, get to let go, and be swept up into something new. The old form disintegrating, becoming a part of the sky, and oh, I crave my place in that sky, that blue and blustery sky, and the rain coming down, and the stars, oh, the stars. . .