Form serves us best when it works as an obstruction to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and that when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings. —Wendell Berry
I have a pilgrimage – maybe more a witcharage path I walk in the forest off the dirt road near which I used to live. There are shrines along the way: an oak, a cluster of old growth pine, hollow stump, downed Ponderosa, at which I have conversations with the lovable and unnameable.
Tonight, I went out into the meadow near the path and froze my butt off hunting for the two planetary lovers. They were somewhere I wasn’t looking.
I gave up, drove home and about 1/3 miles from my trailer, pulled over on the road, looked up and there they were. You’d think I would have learned during the R-decades (R=relationship) that you never find what you’re looking for when you look for it.
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