I have known for some time that there are hawks on the meadow. Some days I would hear a distinct cry from the tree tops and occasionally, be blessed with a rare glimpse. A solitary raptor returning from the hunt. The sudden, silent spreading of wings in hasty ascent as I turned a corner between the trees.
Stepping into the memory garden
I chanced upon a woman.
A woman? No!
Rather a girl.
I drove home from the appointment shell-shocked. At 46, I had just been told that I should never run again! It turned out that the back pain that had grown from a niggle to a whining complaint over the past twelve months was my spine letting me know that it had been invaded. Arthritis – advanced enough to be visible on a normal x-ray, – had taken up residence in my lower lumbar vertebrae (along with its companion – Spondylosis).
Continuing on our sojourn with purpose. Once we have established what it is and what it is not, (see my earlier blog post “Pondering Purpose“) How do we find it for ourselves? And what happens once we do? My answer to this won’t be pleasing to the young enthusiasts among you, but life has taught me that purpose is not like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.