I’m sitting just above the surging waters of a post-storm creek that flows through a canyon outside of the town of Ojai, California. I splurged on a two-day vacation for myself, a self-imposed retreat immersed in nature (from the glamping comfort of an RV) where I could practice a bit more presence, and perhaps chip away at some of the residue left by a constant buildup of internal dialogue
What is potential, really, but a distraction from the present? One’s potential is what could be, what you measure yourself against or what others measure you against.
A poem on living outside the box