The sleet continues. There is a light dusting of white on the ground, with the temperature last night dropping enough for a little snow. Now there is only an icy rain, a rain which seems to be never ending. Some complain. I think it grand. I’m always one for dramatic weather.

It’s been eleven days since writing. Mainly because what I would write is the very goal of this section. I want to express the inner workings of my soul as it passes through the various rhythms of life. Yet, over the last few weeks I’ve felt clogged. My soul feels backed up, my ability to express seems stifled. 

And I don’t know why. Like in Finding Neverland at the beginning, I feel I can work but without real insight. I’ve lost inspiration and unlike other points I’m rather certain the renewal of this inspiration is not within me. So, there is only to press on, keep at what I can do, and wait for the Spirit to bring in that which renews my enthusiasm. 

I’m doing well, only my soul is clogged, and it is here where I intend to relate my soul. Thus little writing for the time being.

All great travels endure the privation of a wilderness and often a desert. I keep walking, for the oasis will soon be reached. Though, it is good to remind myself not to be too confident in anything I see, for that may merely be a mirage. The real oasis is more than dust and tricks of the light.