Tonight, the Walk begins. I look at my feet and see sand, soft and fine, like certain beach sands. There in the distance is a small rise of granite outcropping - perhaps a hill, perhaps more. No matter. On the other side of it, I "know" a small grove - an oasis of sorts - with a spring exists. The evening is clear, and holds the not cool/ not warm of May in New England (U.S.). There is a sense of being in a wyrmhole - a Spirit passageway - for I can almost discern the rushing, frantic, brash environment of the techno-society that I live in. It reminds me of those sea-quariums where you can walk through the watery shark-filled milieu through a plastic tubing. In a very limited sense, it is like that. When it becomes too distracting, I sit and go to my Peace place, and when I am Still enough, I Listen. I hold handfuls of sand and let it trickle through my fingers. And Listen. To the sand. To the evening air. To Spirit Calling. And as I calm down, I rise again to resume my Walk. There is the slightest breeze - very friendly, companionable, eager to talk, but not chattery or overbearing. It brings me tastes of the spring which is maybe 10 miles away. The sand is not so soft like dunes that tire one quickly, but more hard-packed as if layered upon solid bedrock. A scorpion crosses tracks with me, but is too busy in its quest to stop and chat. Once, before it has become too dark for me to see clearly, I see the shadows of wolf-like creatures racing across the horizon in front of me... east to west... depending, of course, on which direction I'm traveling. It isn't west. My thought is maybe northeast. Hard to say this evening, and even when the stars come out, I don't know that I can read them well enough to tell which way is north. In any case, it soon becomes very dark, as a new moon has chosen to escort me. A mere Cheshire-cat smile, it is. Strange that no one has named a constellation to mirror the Cheshire cat that manifests around that smile. Perhaps I will. It is wonderfully cool now in the night air - not shivering cool, but a step above that. Good for walking. What I realize as the darkness envelopes everything is that I have no marker to focus on, to keep to the Path, to find my oasis - beyond the black-on-cobalt silhouette of the rocky ridge. So, keeping that in front of me, I keep walking. There comes a point that I know if I stop to sit now, I will not get up. I am very tired. A black silhouette of something very large flying overhead catches my eye. It is a natural being, like a very very big owl. But I can't see details and I'm not sure - at that size - that I want to make myself that obvious anyway. Many hours seem to have passed, and finally the rocks are beginning to develop solid shapes that I can discern. I know I must be within a mile of them, and that gives me some more energy. I tell myself, "at least get to the rocks." and so I do. Still, I know my destination is on the far side of the Ridge and no telling how wide that may be. When I finally reach the base of the Ridge, I realize how huge the granite blocks are, and how difficult they may be to climb. A pair of small yellow eyes glint out at me from a space between boulders, and then disappears. Something like a civet, I feel, who has no use for me. I start climbing using pure intuition because there is no way to see easy hand- or foot-holds, paths, or even fissures. After about an hour of climbing, I feel that I am more on top than on the side of the Ridge. But the width of the Ridge still prevents me from seeing what I hope will be my spring water grove. Very, very carefully I make my way across the outcropping, sometimes spending more time moving laterally than forward. Still, finally, I come to a place where I will now have to try and work my way downwards... and I had thought up-and-over was bad! For part of the descent, I'm able to crabwalk sideways and down, facing out, so I can see a bit of where I'm going. It's then that I realize the sky is indeed lightening somewhat and drawing interesting shadows around me. Sometimes I catch glimpses of a plausible path, and turn around to descend it. Sometimes I just shut my eyes and try to sense "the Force", so as to put hands and feet on solid palms of granite. And, then, I feel sand beneath my feet! As ecstatic as I am over that, however, I know I can't collapse. Not yet. Not til the Grove and the taste of spring water. What little I had carried is gone now. I turn away from the Ridge, and scan the landscape for the Grove. It's off to my left, only a few hundred yards away. I know I can make that, although my knees disagree. We do have quite the argument, but - grumbling - they acquiesce, and off we hobble. Just as the first rays of sunrise crest the far end of the Ridge, I step into the Grove. Once through a circle of what look to be Elm trees in full summer green, I realize I am walking on thick green grass. In the center, a small spring-fed pond glistens in a sky-reflected aura. Tiny ripples from water-bugs or water-walkers are the only distractions upon its surface. The breeze returns, welcoming me. And, by the grassy shore of the pond, Yeshua sits. He beckons me to him, holding out his arms to draw my wearied, blistered body to him. I sleep all day.