Telling the Truth: Part I in a Series on Loneliness
The path winds and twists ahead. I breathe in the musky pine air and feel the soft moss-covered ground support my steps. The birds beckon me with their trills and tweets. I pause to sit on a sturdy wood carved bench forcing myself into my meditation to-do. Instead, the tears gather at the corners of my eyes afraid to budge. In the shallow first second, I want to laugh believing that the welling wetness in my eyes is born from the ever-present frustration I carry of not being able to quiet my mind. (Ever). But as I sit with my
