school starts tommorow

I'm going to meet my teachers, and fellow students, for the first time. I'm going to drive there for the first time. I'm going to make myself a peanut (or... cashew)-butter and J sandwich for my bag lunch, for the first time. All tomorrow. I am nervous and excited. This is why I drove two and a half thousand miles and gave up the comforts of home. I hope it's worth it (or do I hope it's not, so I can just call this a weird vacation and go back to my comfort zone?)

Lately has been a huge juxtaposition of the perfection of the world, and my trust in it, and my fear of the future, and being deserted by God.

I feel like I am going past words now. The path I'm walking, it's tearing down all the words that I would have used to describe it, to describe the goal. Each word, so precious to me: God, Enlightenment, TRUTH, Compassion, is taken down from the wall of my mind, where it hangs like a picture, and examined closely. And each one proves to be a fake. I pile it up in a corner somewhere, and the walls get blanker and blanker. Except really, the paintings are the walls, and there is something beyond them, but it's not something of words, it's just something that is.

This is not an easy process, this is not a fast process. There are parts of it that are easy and fast, but there are words that are stitched into my body and to take them off and examine them is to rip off part of myself. I am inexpert at this. No one showed me how to do this. It is a shoddy job, messy and often unnecessarily circuitous, like taking ten minutes to slog through a brier-laden swamp because you didn't know there was a thirty second trail that went through it. But that's how it goes when you walk a path by yourself. No one else to give you directions. I suppose you could call it the path of you.

hmm. poem?

the path of you
alone
you walk
to find yourself
you walk
alone
to find yourself
alone