You go for one slow run and get thinking you're God's own gift. You should write a blog post telling everyone to do as you've done. Get out there! You're enlightened from that one slow run.

Then you remember this is your first run in weeks. You feel your big belly and sore legs. Maybe you're not one to give advice.

You recall too what you've read about mediation. (Read about instead of actually doing meditation.) Fools run through the temple halls shouting about their enlightenment. Monks who have mediated more than half their lives hear the fool, accept him, and return to their breath.

This morning you watched two guys run past your house. They didn't look enlightened. They were just running. One foot and then another.

You had just finished the writing you do every morning. A practice about which you hold few expectations. Just one word and then another. You accept what it gives and try to be worthy of its gifts.

Your run today was just moving through this life. No enlightenment. No need to shout or blog. (Though here you are.) You were just running through the halls of this temple Earth, quietly, following your breath, trying to let go expectations and be present to the gifts your every step delivers.

Enlightenment, if you really need it, is probably both a lifetime of miles ahead and right here already.