Sometimes I’m waiting at the onset of the known path, acknowledging that it’s no longer mine to take.

The sure wins of the familiar are right there at my fingertips. Just steps away.

Sometimes there seems to be nothing else other than the familiar path. Sometimes the familiar path reaches out to me, speaking “I am the only way”.

Yet I wait. I receive the agony of not knowing.

An inner upsurge of commitment to mystery swells in my belly. Who knows what it is, where it will take me, and if it will take me anywhere at all. It is both scary and awe inspiring. And it is also hungry.

Hungry for more than ‘rinse & repeat’. It is my desire to learn and burn. To live anew, and relinquish who I have been to fire.

So I wait beside you clearly defined path. I wait for something that right now could be invisible, or totally absent, or never to arrive.

I wait, holding mystery as sacred. Empty, spacious, full with everything and nothing.

Waiting is my magic. Mystery is my way.