There is a kind of sadness that arrives after striving is over. Not despair. Not depression. Just a low, steady ache that hums beneath the surface of spiritual practice later in life. But something has softened, thinned, darkened at the edges. Sitting within it. Practice has stopped promising relief and started offering ever evolving companionship. I’m exploring what melancholy has to teach. I want to fall in love with my life without incessantly needing it to improve. Devoti