Monday, April 3, 2017
A crescent moon hung above the dark line of trees along the Sambu river. For the first time in many days, I was cold. The lancha sped down-river in a deafening whine of engines pushing against the weight of muddy, living water. That light, that sound, the voices from the last several days all settled into a mix of joy and peace as the air rushed past in the early morning calm. What it said was I have work to do. I'm not as good or done as I think I am. It reminded me that the lazy demon that drags me down is not the only voice to live by. There is possibility out there. You might still get your act together, learn to surf, get back in shape, do something big and beautiful. Dare I say I found comfort cradled in the gift of hope? This life is a scramble from which we do not escape alive. There is still some time to learn how to live the days I am given, to get to work on the book that languishes in my neglect, to sing a song or two, to remember that it is not about the recognition you get or even the results, but the absolute resolve to squeeze out of every moment joy and generosity. You are spirit pilgrim, spirit in motion. Get moving.