28. Into the Water

My walk with Joe, at just over mid-point, continues to be a balance of light and darkness. Oddly, each day I seem to find more of the beauty in this dichotomy. In his darkness and suffering, Joe has become less strident and honestly vulnerable, more kind to me, more authentically attached -- which enables me to authentically and compassionately hear his pain but not take it into myself, that is, to detach with love. I no longer feel guilty saying "I need to walk alone today" when my heart tells me it would be good for me -- or him -- to do so. I am breathing freely, inhaling hope with every mile.

Surface

Your steps touch me

In a place

Deep and untouched

Passionate and necessary

And that place tells me

To tell you

Step off this path

Just for a moment

And go down instead

Into the water

To the depths of the ocean

To the darkest bottom

Where you cannot see

Hold your breath

Then rise to the surface

And take a new first breath

~ Cheryl Murfin, on the Camino de Santiago