It tis a beautiful, and beautifully quiet, morning, a lazy morning which nudges the soul later than normal, suggesting at around 10:00 that the day begin. I was up earlier, to be sure, but not particularly active. The light of the morning sun seems too delightful to spend using in focused pursuits. It is a day of consideration, of soul settling, letting the heart find ease despite itself.

I started and finished George MacDonald’s Phantastes yesterday, and likely this has much to do with my gentle reverie today. There are books that open the soul, there are books which mar the soul, and there are books which speak to the soul. This was a book that spoke of my soul, a fairy tale which illumined my inner being, putting into words my ten year path.

Though, the difference is that this book ended at a certain point. My story is still being written. To share a reality on a plane which is beyond the palpable and prosaic is a delight. A delight helped by a quiet day, filled with long runs through forested trails, staring at birds bathing and flitting, and watching for a long while the sun set on the western horizon, with scattered clouds turning pinks and reds and purples as it descended.

Ear plugs helped… for it was really a noisy day all around. But, I insisted on an inner peace which wouldn’t let the many scattered noises interfere. And so it ended nicely.

My heart feels calm today, at rest. My mind interjects with questions of the present reality, and worry creeps back. But, the pervading peace transcends this, as I continue to grasp a hold of realities beyond my own, and increasingly become more comfortable with these.

That, even more than writing, is my present calling. When and if this present location is traded for another, it is a lesson which many end their lives never learning.

Like a wise man said, “It’s all about the end.”