thoughts in a bath: Aftermath of a spiritual journey

I feel impacient. The comedown from my joueny has left me not caring for much. Was that what I wanted to achieve? In some ways yes. But now that I don’t care.

The mess of thoughts, but somehow I don’t want to look at this journey retrospectively I would have liked to record it as it happened.

The folloing day I wake up greezy, all that sweat, dirt and aching feet mixed together. I need to heal and recover. The body has taken a lot. I should go on another journey again. Maybe from the country back into town.

Everything seems so much more simple after a journey like that. Everything seems interesting again, I could sit anywhere and do anything with great interest and appreciation. And my short temper is still there. Maybe it is my feet that need a good rub, will that ease my temper.

Single serving was a thought I had that I really liked on my journey. To not think that I will ever see people again. To have that in mind I can be on my own I can do my own thing. This is a way that I have wanted to look at independence but was never able to. It is exciting, and at the same time when I do accoiate with people it feels like the first time. I think I would like to explan upon this idea. And see where it takes me.

On my jounreys that is how I write books. They sort of just come out of my head, and then I have to try and record what went on retrospectively. Which I must say isn’t very easy. Expecially when I am not a long story writer. I could breally get 2000 words even if I wrote all day, and by tomorrow I would see the world slightly different and that feeling is hard to rekindle. But if you could stay with an idea for long eveough I think I could get a story together. Add some weight to my ideas.

I think you can go on a spiritual journey at any time if you are able to walk for at least a few hours. I don’t like consecutive days of hiking, maybe it is because I am not used to it. But I think I need at least a little time to heal recover and collect my thoughts that have been layed out all over my mind, spread out notes taken and thoughts jotted down on the fabric of my mind.

I clean my body, water hugging my breast ans submerging them. I like the feel of my skin as I slowly move a washcloth over my body. Hair wet and mascara running. So dirty and gritty from that lonhg walk into the wasteland. Going from what I know to emptry nothing ness where my mind ran and galloped free over crusty sand dunes.

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