Ah, my practice.  I sit and watch it grow.

At first, my practice confused me; it bewildered me.  All the non-sense.  All the mysteries to solve and understand.

And then, my practice enraptured me.  The thrilling excitement of this new thing I had discovered.

And then, my practice became my pride and joy.  Such pity for all who knew no such practice.

And then, my practice left a hole in me.  As I let go of my pride; let go of my attachment; let go of my feeling exceptional, my practice became just my practice.  I’d felt a loss.  Thoughts of whether I’d strayed off the path.  Thoughts of whether I’d lost my practice.  Nagging self doubt.

And then, my practice and I found peace with one another.  “Forgetting the Ox, the Oxherder Rests Alone,” now makes sense.  Still, I work hard in my studies, as I did before.  But not for me.  Not for me.  For the chance that I may be blessed one day to be better able to point someone else along the way.

And then, I practice.

And then, I practice.