I feel a bit stranded, the deflating balloon on the corner pole signifying “party’s over.” It went well, this longish gig as a ‘homeowner.’ It is no longer upon me to remain here.

There is a strong parallel resonance going forward on all the other me-lines, too. To you who choose to partake of this reading here, Salut!

It is the best feeling; not to be netted in ego but to find a bit of a better way to squeeze through it into Spiritual Sovereignty, or what I feel that status to be. It’s a glass bridge at best, another showdown with Faith that has us both walking away, slapping at dust & grinning at each other.

It occurs to me that I am following a different & distant directive … that one about when the time comes to Believe, one lets go of perceived security & hearkens on, finding safety in the journey. Faintly I hear the beat of a distant drum in-heart, resonant into fade as I listen, distinctive when I don’t. It is not in my nature to be or become complacent anymore. Recently & just along this path, I’ve deduced that my greatest progress is made reining to a halt to listen.

Unlike many, my heart quickens at the thought of owning nothing & being happy. Wasn’t that at one time the goal of all Pilgrims? All you had to do was get your dream off the ground in your mind.

One of my earliest-recalled poems phrases lines about being at home wherever I land as my lifelong goal, indeed, ‘free as a bird,’ finding sustenance always to hand. Reputations have plummeted over ages, but there were true-thinking  Servitors, true to prayer & dedicated to a set-aside life, a ‘holy’ life. We are Pilgrims, owning only this moment. Often the willing Traveler opens the way in joining the currents of the roads, becomes iconic & of itself, an Avatar.

Walking a Pilgrimage has drifted to the bottom of my bucket list, yet I am having the thought drop in that this life now has been exactly that. I’ve lived & “done” my time. For some reason, I squeaked in past the censors to be born here – an inside-out spirit only now fitting in as all of life turns itself so.

The older I get, the more my life resembles a smudged carbon copy, well-penciled, with many phrases dug out from repetition. So what if I turn out to be an  eccentricity foisted upon a life which started out on track but somewhere jumped the rails.

All I hear is, “Yahoo!”