I experience an interesting exhaustion: exhaustion of all my unnecessary shit.
I'm arriving - certainly not in some big way or even with certainty, just arriving - at That. It is simple to be simple. Classical, spiritual, holistic...just yourself. Just nature. Hiding deep in the woods, high up on a rock slab, medicated by the emptiness and quietness and naturalness and even heaviness that has nothing to do with process and forced peace, I said that the only great intelligence is nature - nothing to do with idealistic tree-huggy forced-smiley stuff, either.
The most "at one" humans I can think of are those who - maybe like me - grew weary of trying to be seen and weary of not being themselves (natural), and so decided to go back into the flow, dive back into the pattern, become real again, and thus become what should be seen. Nature. That. It's fine to say it's about the journey and not the destination: that's perfectly true. But the trick of that trick is realizing that the journey offers nowhere to go.
And then you start arriving, at the wisdom you knew but didn't know you had as a child. The extra - no, natural - sense that makes you recognize That in the way the sun falls on a patch of dirt, the rhythm in "little" things, the dance under the skin of things.