lost traveler

left: dishes drying in the morning light // right: a los angeles hillside from the freeway

I’ve been flipping back through Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow, looking for some inspiration, maybe even answers, and finding damn good poetry instead:

By then I wasn’t just asking questions, I was being changed by them. I was being changed by my prayers, which dwindled down nearer and nearer to silence, which weren’t confrontations with God but with the difficulty–in my own mind, or in the human lot–of knowing what or how to pray. Lying awake at night, I would feel myself being changed–into what, I had no idea. It was worse than wondering if I had received the call. I wasn’t just a student or a going-to-be preacher anymore. I was a lost traveler wandering in the woods, needing to be on my way somewhere but not knowing where.