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, written by Jeremy. Read the commentary.

I don’t want to make a big show out of that canoe trip. It really was just six days paddling around a lake. But it was also a window to a part of me that lay nearly forgotten.

There are many mornings when I sit in the library and watch the sun come up. On those mornings there is always a moment when I ask my self what the day will be for. It’s a casual question, easy to ignore, and it usually is ignored.

The question comes from some small place in me. As though it came from a corner of the dawn lit room. And when I actually think about it, it surprises me that the question comes at all.

It’s not “me” asking. I don’t wander through my day paying attention to what it is. Instead I long for what it some day will be. All my attention is focused on the future and so it surprises me that I can still even hear that question.

But during the canoe trip the voice came out of the corner. It came out of that tiny dark place within me and grew. It expanded. It spread from its minute refuge, that small scratch on the wall of my introspection, and started to shout.

It crashed through the wall and turned me outside my self. My attention left the small room where all my thoughts are held and began observing the day. By the end of the trip, that voice had nearly reached the edges of who I am – it was very nearly free.

And this morning, when I took that first sip of coffee, I heard my self ask what the day would be for. It came from a very small place within me. It’s been just three weeks since I left the mountains.

How can I sit at a desk all day and yet still remain aware? How to honestly face the reality of life in a city and still stay on? What to do with a body built for strength and exhuberance when its used to drive a key pad, turn pages, and wind up power cords?

How do we keep that voice free? How do we use our mind to change the world (if that is our purpose) when its health depends on a body we keep in a cage?

I am anxious to solve this riddle – before I forget.

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