Yesterday I lost touch with my soul. That's what it felt like, when explaining to a friend at lunch what state I was experiencing. Emotionally tapped out and unable to refill the empty spaces. She gave me a phone number to call a spiritual advisor. I fumbled the bill and was reminded that I can't keep mental track of things, that I am clumsy and confused, and unable to create anything. No writing, no jewelry, no art. The garden is no longer restorative. And I crushed a beetle between my fingers the other day, a thing I've never done. The beetle wasn't doing anything but eating my zinnia leaves. I called the advisor. He agreed to call me back later last night. I lit a candle and opened a journal page and wrote B E R E F T. I've been lucky to have a strong spiritual sense. To experience awe, joy, and humility in the mystery of creation. So the inability to touch the source feels vacant and odd. I burned out in the caregiving role years ago, and now the ashes are adrift. We had a good conversation last night. I have to change my role, take steps to build my strength again and get back on my spiritual path. Just now, that feels daunting, but I took the first step by making a phone call to ask for help. Per ardua ad alta.