A single step contains all distance - and our reach is but an expression of the infinite itself. Running does not take us anywhere. We are travelers on an interior plane. Yet certainly our bodies are engaged in motion. The paradox is that for all the motion granted - distance remains always on the tip of every stride. The infinite remains our reach. We are always touching that which we seek. The gift of running is that we are here - and the world has stretched to find us.
Peace,
Eric
No comments:
Post a Comment