I sat down to write my work log and described my day. It was the most boring thing to write, and to read too. “I used to do better than this”, I thought, and I referred back to my writing on the camino. I couldn’t help but keep on reading all the way through. The strangest of thoughts arose: “who is this person who is so inspired? How can he find insights to write every day? I wish I was more like him!”.
And then I realised: I accidentally focused on the pettiness of every day life. It’s listening to the background noise instead of the great concert of life. It’s looking at the seams instead of appreciating the self-knitting fabric of existence. It’s knowing you won’t laugh at a joke before the punch line.
Oh how dramatic have I become! I’ll indulge, just for today. That which the heart does not express is acted out. Why this mood? Is it melancholy for things left behind? Indeed, it is.
I had written this after the camino.
The only conclusion drawn from this walk is that there is no difference between a camino log and a work log, they are the same: inner work and outer work. The arrows point the way through seamless paths between personal and professional work, between inward and outward landscapes, between physical and psychological destinations, unveiling spiritual and rational truths.
How could I forget! Let us go to bed, praying for inspiration.
