I’m at the Jerte Valley. Last week I went early in the morning to the bus station to come here, but the bus tickets were sold out. I was initially disappointed and thought about grabbing a late bus, but then I thought: I wanted this to be a personal retreat of sorts, and if I failed at this task what is the lesson? Planning, of course. My improvising skills are superb, I always seem to find a solution to the gnarly problems I get into, but I get into problems because I don’t plan. Let the lesson be planning.

So during the week I bought the bus tickets and made the hostel reservation. After this I arranged many other things which were ‘up in the air’, like vague meeting intentions with a friend, actually paying for a yoga workshop which I told the teacher I would attend, that sort of thing.

There’s a downside to planning: the circumstances you planned for might change, and that’s the case today: it’s drizzling outside and I’m waiting for the rain to subside. I bought the bus ticket for friday night so I could leave the hostel early in the morning, at this rate I should have taken the morning bus from Madrid on Saturday and save 35 euros. Yadda yadda.

The lesson is not “do not plan” or “plan” but “understand the constraints and consequences of planning and improvising”, each has a place in our livingry toolkit and are very valuable especially when used in tandem.

I came here to visit my oak tree, my waterfall and my meditation spot under a bush of hedera helix. I call them “mine” because I had this sensation when I initially discovered them. A place to which there is no path, and which is only frequented by shepherds and goats.

I feel I come to reconnect with a version of myself that existed ten years ago, that has matured since then (h0p3’s criticism is on-spot) but at the same time my spiritual sensations and expression has dried up since then. It is time to drink again from the spring born at the oak tree.