And one day, after many turns, I find myself in an open space. A space to stop and look around, wondering how unexpectedly the scenery can change. I'm unsure how much I had to do with it. Of course I took the turns, I crossed the streets. But I followed vague signs, and trusted strangers who didn't know where they were going. It's a familiar forest, I'm traveling, and I know I've never been here before.
I'm at a bright spot, but don't stay very long. The light has given me confidence and I want to explore more. I descend pathways covered in whole autumn leaves, with sparkling drops reflecting. If it's a path, it'll lead somewhere, -is an innocent enough thought. Nonetheless, it could be that just the sparks draw me.
Other people have been here before, I sense. Other people have found answers in facing quietude. Kept walking and arrived here. I hadn't yet learned that some answers prefer no questions. And so I try to sit with the uncomfortable empty-handedness that comes with knowing that I am too am my own imagination.
Certainties fall like those brown golden leaves, but not so elegantly, unwatched. Attached still to their purpose, that's now laid bare, in fragile branches.
I breath in this new space and fear for the branches; they feel every change of the wind, as if unsure on what to focus. I sit and breath and see that new light can reach them. But the darkness is much harder, for nothing protects them from the nightly whispers.
But the silence.
This is where 'll stay for a while; there is enough to look around. There are prickly thorny bushes, and views of crystal clear water. There are a lot of worn paths and deep rooted beliefs. And sometimes a weariness that thinks that all should be left as is. That this too is a creation of my mind.
But all my intentions are met again with silence. A silence I realize I've never heard or been interested in. I enter this silence and it's been waiting for me. I smile at how unexpected this trip has been so far. I find I'm not alone when I dare to reach out, and there is more in silence than my own echo.
You can find me here, I'm not hiding.
I might have less to say, but a long walk would do us good.
I might have less to say, but a long walk would do us good.
“Cat: Where are you going?
Alice: Which way should I go?
Cat: That depends on where you are going.
Alice: I don’t know.
Cat: Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”
Weekend in Arenas de San Pedro.
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