Mushrooms

Day fourteen, Croatia. At the Old Mom's Lodge I meet Filip Mukulicic, who eats fruit and nothing else, and grows most of it himself. „It gives me the most energy,“ he says.

He reminds me of something I had been managing not to notice. For days now, in Italy and here, there has been meat on the table in the evening. Traditionally cooked, everything from the farm, made with care, excellent. And my body doesn't want it, hasn't wanted it for years.

This is not easy to act on when your host is standing in front of you with shining eyes and a steaming dish.

We go into the woods to find mushrooms for supper, wading through streams so clear you can count the stones. „The mushrooms carry water to the trees underground,“ Filip says. „They live off each other.“

He spent a year in India, in Rishikesh. He prefers the mountains here. He does yoga and he is going somewhere with it. „Everything is energy. In deep meditation you can steer it.“

I don't say anything to that. But I notice I don't dismiss it either, and I notice that I notice.

Whether any of it becomes part of my road depends on decisions I haven't made yet.