Camping has been a very spiritual experience in my life, one I’ve always shared with others. I had a very troubling day, so I tried to go tonight on my own. I went to a special place and I set my tent. I even managed to fix my headlamp. I ate the sandwich I had packed, crawled into my tent and felt warm and safe. I didn’t use my rainfly so as I lay I looked at the stars. I felt such comfort when I saw Pete’s constellation; I wept out of love for my best friend. I cried for my grandmother and I cried for my dad. I can’t seem to keep the tears back these days. I tried hard to journal, but I have no words right now. I think that this attempt was very good for me, and I’d surely have been out all night if it weren’t for the inability to sleep. I also think it would be wise to be in a better head space next time, or maybe not. In all of the confusion, I feel at peace. I’m accepting sadness as a part of life, and being present in the moment. I’m going back in the morning to meditate there on this idea and then I’m going to go for a slow paddle (woop for working toward other goals)
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