Red dirt

A dusting of paprika-colored sand permeates every surface of my backpack and clothes. Even the toothpaste tube has a gritty residue. I’d like to think these particles are on assignment, carrying out an esoteric mission that only the small entities in life can undertake. (According to the ancient hymn/myth, Inanna is rescued from the underworld by fingernail clippings whose insignificance enables them to pass through the gates of hell without notice.)

I’m still struggling from the straddle of a 14 hour time zone shift between Australia and Boston, but I don’t think that is the only reason for my struggle to language the insights from these last 4 weeks. I may be in a kind of white light over exposure, the way you feel when you’ve been in extreme reflectional conditions like sun on snow or sun on sand. But as my vision and clarity return, I will post those impressions here.