Sometimes it is enough to touch a blade of grass and feel it breathe in the space between the fingers. I kneel down to pray, turning inward to touch that place of silence. And grace rains on me from an ever darkening saffron evening sky.
I did not know how much pain there was in my heart until you put a bandage on it. And white light came streaming through, just like Rumi said, before bursting into rainbow colours and making this soul whole again. And tears of gratitude fell through the night, and when the morning came the sun rose, just as it should and always does, colouring the horizon in all the beauty ever imagined possible. But for me, this was a dawn like never before and I walked towards the sun, willing to let my heart be vulnerable again.
The path beckons to the distant horizon, I put one foot in front of the other; slow and deliberate, mindful and aware. As if all journeys are pilgrimages. To go to the next mountain, or the next country. Or to go within. Alive in the knowledge that each step takes me further from the known and into the unknown. Leaving only traces of footprints behind to be wiped off by wind and rain.
The blue of the endless sky washes over the mountain side until the rocks are bathed in purest sapphire and indigo. Sugar dust of new snow dance on the peaks, faint and slight, white light that shines through. Solitude is a blessing and silence heals, all past wounds and the ones yet to come.