Wisdom on the journey

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As you walk this path, there will be many deterrents. The butterfly that flits across to land on your nose,then after looking you in one eye..flits off again across the path into the forest. You are beguiled by this curious creature,and find yourself following the metamorphosed Caterpillar to points unknown.

Seasons pass...

You come upon this rocky path,that seems familiar,Grabbing your sack,you abruptly decide to follow it for a bit. The forest of evergreens makes a magical canopy for the birds and fauna,noticing as you wander .Up ahead you notice a clearing , approaching it you open up to the view. and feel the warm ,glistening light of the sun. Looking about you take in the vistas of mountainous caverns topped with white bits of milky snow..glancing downward you see all of this and more,reflected upon the mirror of a mountain lakes surface..In awe you are of the beauty that surrounds you,and permeates your being. You are lost in the feeling ,the beauty..Sitting in the high grass surrounded by wildflowers,entranced.

The winds off the mountains turn cooler,as the flowers fade,the wisdom found within does not ,nor flicker,but remain strong.

SNIFF!

A scent rides the wind,softly enticing a response. Rising upon feet and legs of mountain goats,off you go, in search of the who,what where and why.

So intense is this scent,that nothing deters you from obtaining it's source. It is not that the scent is pleasant,or stale,.It is somewhat familiar. After all this ,trip in unfamiliar territory,it would be grand to be comforted.To know the why,where ,what and who.Perhaps this ,is what the journey is about ,perhaps THIS is the destination.

Up ahead is a small cottage,a hunters shed really. At an almost run,you reach the opening ,just as the sky's open up and the snow starts to fall. The thunder booms.Thunder snow ,they call it.

Crossing the threshold of the shed,you warm yourself by a fire that has been laid. You seat yourself in a oak ancient rocking chair. A cup of something warm,and soothing is to your right. Cupping the mug in your hand and rocking ,you are home .

Your feet plant on the floor,No...This is not home. This is familiar. What is familiar is not always home .It may look,feel,smell like home . But,aye it is not always home.

Home is a fallacy,created by the mind to deter one from the journey of the heart,of the spirit.

You realize if you  forever in the familiar,never venturing out,beyond our threshold,you will never remember who you are,really.

Throwing off the blanket,placing the mug on the table. Grabbing your still damp coat. You stride across the room,to the door. Throwing open the door,you step foot out on the trail ,once again.