Trial and error

"Just tell me!", I pleaded. “I can’t, my love.  There’s no more thinking to be done,” she said.

“No really,” I begged. “There must be a structure, an outline, a plan to follow. Others have come before. There must be a right way!”

“Yes,” she said, “Others have. And the “rightness” of their path, as with each, is personal. Not universal.

“You must venture out. Test. Play. Slow. Sprint. Feel. Open. Pray to the heavens, fall to the ground, come up with nothing and go again, until the foundation under your feet firms until the light rims the clouds as bright, golden thread, until you weep and laugh, together, for nothing and everything, until the voice, your divine voice, rises from the shelter behind your sternum, golden itself to say, ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Take my hand, my dear, and we’ll travel together the rest of the way.’

“And when will THAT happen?” I pressed.

“When you trust,” she said.

All my love,

Jamie