Finding Our Way Home

It has been a full day out here in paradise and with it lots of blue sky and views from the bike path from Santa Rosa to Forestville.  The Joe Rodota trail is a way for cyclists here to enjoy a trip to the west county without risking their lives.  The trail along an abandoned railroad line that was cleared and paved allows walkers, bikers, runners and everything-elsers to mosey without cars.  With a few hiccups on roadways one can make a trip out westerly that makes a person feel like they had an adventure.  I kept up my end of the bike ride, though I am not a cyclist, and I still managed to get a flat tire.

We came home and cleaned up quickly to have some potluck fare with part of our spiritual family.  It is always good to see one another relaxed and eating together.  We know how to eat food together really, really well.  For me, each person is someone I know or have seen.  In fact , with some, I share mutual spiritual hurdles and a kinship that goes beyond flesh and bone.  We are fellow survivors and we know that though we may not say it all the time.  We are the lucky ones.  Each of us is trying to find our way home to ourselves.

Returning home yet again afterwards, I spent some time on the couch with my book and heard the geese fly over our house, honking their way to Spring Lake.  It is a strange and reassuring sound and sometimes I stand in the yard and I can hear their wings pulling against the air as they fly low overhead.  I feel reassured that we are all just trying to do the best we can, within our fellowship and within our lives to be better people living better lives.  Like those geese that I love to hear keeping one another in formation by calling out, we are trying to find our way home as well.