Despite trying to take care of this week moving towards the summit, yesterday I stumbled repeatedly, finding myself tripped by other people’s frailties and my own.

It was so wearying.

The patience of last few steps towards the summit is gossamer thing. Already vast reserves of it have been used up. It has been stretched beyond capacity, grown, stretched and grown many times. The spiritual force that all patience requires has been used, replenished, used, replenished.

The wearing away of reserves reveals the last hard edges of being, that are to be smoothed with the difficulties of triumph. It is a marathon runner in the last yards, it is a woman in the final pushes of birth, it is a rare glimpse of real, piercing through all the clutter of modern being.

Today discipline was not enough, disintegration was needed. Somewhere beneath the known there was more to be found, and tears were needed to find it. It is such a mystery how discipline intermingles with humility, the controlled with the surrender. Both are needed towards the summit, but only in the surrender is there grace – and patience.

I feel more fragile but I’m stronger than yesterday.

I’m being born/e.