There are stopping points on any journey and I find that I often do not recognize these resting points for what they are. I complain that I have no projects and I am bored and yet I do nothing to change this.
Instead, I rest, not recognizing that this is what I am supposed to do. The rest becomes so much more enjoyable when I am honest with myself and rest in the resting place I have carved out for myself. A sense of letting go of the baggage I have collected, allowing me to breathe easier, as I toss off the Samsonite, ignoring whether the luggage is damaged, properly stored, or even accounted for.
So my task today is to enjoy the rest, the lack of business, the sweet surrender to the sounds of bees, the small tinkling of wind chimes, and the occasional swell of trees as they talk to each other under the cover of wind.
((The title is from an Emily Dickinson Poem)
Notes from the Traveler's Camp 