I have almost run out of things to say about our pilgrimage. I have circled back on almost everything by now and tomorrow we will return to where the journey began, to a little farm in the Methow Valley of Washington. That is where I'll leave you.
I've been thinking of all the challenges of our Camino, none of which are fully resolved even now, three months later. My hips and knees still ache and every now and then I see replacement surgery in my dreams. I wake up sweating. The financial strain of taking months of sabbatical from birth work to travel remains a weight. I'm now wearing a heart monitor for two weeks to figure out why I've blacked out several times, including when I landed on and broke my face bones in Paris, during those travels. My beloved continues to climb up and down the difficult mountains: Sadness, Listlessness, Depression, Lack of Direction.
There are miles to go before we sleep.
And yet, I feel nothing but gratitude for it all -- for the challenges, for the spirit that moves us to do crazy things, for this life, for this moment, for this one breath. I feel gratitude in every step. But, as I sit here, I realize there is no walk, no journey, no quest, or pilgrimage long enough to overcome or reframe all of one's challenges. That's the thing about life, it is a cycle. Challenge-seeking-resolution-challenge. The only way to ever overcome that is, well, to not live.
So we keep walking.
Looking Back
Years later when
I looked back
I was sure
That I'd remember
Every detail
Of that unfruitful question
I am always asking myself:
Are we there yet?
But I could not
Recall it
Not a single inch
Of that long stroll
Into myself
And an answer
No longer
Mattered
The only thing
I brought back
Was a lingering feeling
Phantom-like
That once over
Every journey
Is shorter
Than it seemed
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