I used to measure my mother's love for me by moon miles. She would tell me she loved me to the moon and back, over and over again. It meant she loved me to infinity. After saying good night, I would lay in my bed and try to think of the largest number I knew and multiply that by what I knew was one walking mile; it was my way of trying to understand the great distanced landscape of love. What she was giving me was an anchor, the moon, so that I could always find my way. As a child, I perhaps knew this landscape was deep within me, but I only consciously thought of it as something outside of myself.
Now when I look at that outside landscape, watching the moon fall over the hills in the early morning, I think about how many thousands of miles she travels, and I look freshly upon that old landscape deep within me. For every one mile I walk, I travel at least ten soul miles. Where am I going? All sorts of places. I walk here and there, following a night's dream, wondering about its message. I walk in and out of lines of poetry. I sing aloud. I talk to myself. I make lists. I watch deer. I sometimes take a detour to follow a bird's call just to listen. I see this rich inner landscape and its freedom to roam in nature and I know where I am headed: where is it? just where is that location of the human soul? I will find her. I will walk and walk until I find her.