A friend on Facebook was talking about how a lot of people describe their spiritual work as happy and sunny and bright, and how hers felt more like sliding down a hillside in the rain and landing on her arse in a pile of dead leaves.

She ended the post by asking:

Anyone else want to share an analogy for their spirituality that isn’t a motivational poster?

This is my response:

Being perpetually lost in fog, in scrubby hill country with patches of trees and patches of open air. Sometimes there’s a river to follow, other times a building rises out of the mists. Sometimes I go into the forests, but as often as not those are Places Not To Go. I’m never 100% sure of my footing, and rarely glimpse the path more than a few feet ahead of me. The mists are my constant companion, but at least they’re not cold.

There are moments of scintillating brilliance though – when the sun comes out and illuminates the world, and everything sparkles in a way that makes it seem too beautiful to touch.