Loreena McKennitt traveling from Canada to N. Africa following the roots of her muse – the Celts.

Her music is wistful, wanting, in a quiet learned sorrowful way, with the soft underbelly of longing. I am pulled in immediately then sent on an introspective solo journey to my center.

Seek the dias in the midst of the cacophony, sit quiet and listen, soon the distractions will recede and you can spend time with the flow of you, alone. I so miss that.

This year has not started well.

A good friend is shocked to be told “Get your things in order.”

Truth talk on the mesa above the strait that shakes the foundation of a life lived, though of late without the enthusiasm that used to sustain.

The ugly face of life’s economics stares at me. I must give fight.

In all this I am thankful to the woman who still chooses to remain my companion in our trek. Her perseverance, generosity of spirit and love sustain me, give me hope and a lovely reason to wake in the morning. I seem to need less of the rest, for better or worse.

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