I’m walking. I don’t know why or for how long. My bones are aching, my muscles screaming. My baggage burdening my back. But I keep going because there is one thing I do know. I know that it’s going to worth it. I have faith.
I feel like there is a fire inside me, burning and consuming everything that gets in its way. I feel it, in my heart. Warm and fierce. Deep down, I know that everything is going to be okay. I know that I will survive.
The path was long and weary. I’ve passed hills and valleys, lakes and meadows. I’ve walked through days and nights. I kept walking even when rain was pouring all over me and wind was threatening to knock me off my feet. I kept walking when the sun came out and it was so warm and moist that I struggled to breathe. But now, I’ve come to the end. The end of my journey.
I keep walking until my body refuses to move. Until my baggage falls to the ground. Until every part of my being is on fire. Until I collapse to the ground, unable to breathe. I close my eyes and the nothingness comes. And I wait.
A rustle. Soft tickles all over. Sweet, tender, delightful scents. A song of life. I feel the fire melting into something else… soft and powerful and emotive. I am the mountain. I am the pasture. I am everything and everywhere.
I open my eyes and see. I see life everywhere. Sweet little bees kissing the delicate flowers, blossoming in marvelous shades of pink and white and purple. Tiny insects passing through the fresh turf. Birds sharing their melodies from the glorious treetops.
I look down at pastoral lakes and rivers, at majestic meadows and wonderful forests.
And the sky. The stars are quietly withdrawing and make room for splashes of pink and orange, for the first rays of the sun to greet the world.
My baggage is gone. My eyes are wet and the tears are making their way down my chicks, my nose, my mouth, my neck.
I feel light. I feel bursting joy. I feel alive.