The procession

Life as a Renaissance Faire procession, all fluttering banners, gonfalons, trailing ribbons, flowers and flutes.  It is a scene that recreates, in my imagination, the wake of a land-borne ship: dusty footprints, daisies fallen from garlands, sounds receding, molecules separated and rearranged.  Our own solitary procession leaves its traces as well.  Often, we have no idea what they are or even that they are.

It is not only the scholarly, the devout, the remarkable who influence and change thought, who inspire, who ignite.  We are all touched and altered, even if imperceptibly, by those whose paths we cross.

The message I've received from multiple, diverse sources, is this: burrow within, find what is truest and least tangled, what feels weightless and brings the shining essence of me with knowledge but without baggage.  Wear it, model it, give it, live it - no small tasks - and don't ever ask, "Am I doing okay?"  You know.  You've always known.  Keep moving.  With love,