What words can poorly convey, however, spirit can take beyond. By leaving these tracks in the sand, I might see the route of my own departure. Somewhere we fly together, dreaming, singing. Somewhere the dance goes on without end. Our freedom yesterday gives us nothing but another choice today.
Mysticism is a primitive skill.
Coming into the sparse brush, I continue walking straight until I notice deer tracks, meandering with gentle curves through the brush. This brush is sparse enough that a straight path would still be convenient. Yet, following the deer's tracks, there is a different consciousness at work. This meandering course of gentle curves, I discover, can only be made step by step, moment by moment, with decisions always tentative, subject to influence by the next whiff of air, the next attractive bud, the next whim of inspiration or pure serendipity. Gray , copyright 1999, all rights reserved.