Some days I think it must be nice to have a box. To know just what you’re doing and how. Keep it neat, clean, closed, tied with a bow. Must be convenient.
Some days my way is too messy, this never-ending road of learning, of changing, of trying, of doing.
These methods of mine don’t fit in any box. When I do design a box to contain them, it’s just a matter of time until they’re spilling over again. This is a journey of never-ending steps, where nothing is sure, nothing is final.
The only thing sure is change.
Then again—
Where’s the fire under the box, how dare we be content when there are oceans of depth and mountains of insight?
And we continue down this way, forming a path- twisted and rocky, and straight and smooth, and up and down. But it becomes a path. And when we look back we can see just where we’ve fallen, where we’ve climbed, where the treasures were.
And we look ahead, and there are glints of light.
