A couple of days ago, I felt really hopeless. It was a real case of "What in God's name am I doing with myself? I am absolutely not getting it."

I am still currently reading In Search of the Miraculous. The book is probably influencing this to some extent, but the feeling is still there, even though I can intellectualize why it might be there. I can also intellectualize the possibility that this might be a step in the right direction, but I have no idea about this.

A call home, and then to real practicing.