After thirteen days away,
(a dozen visits with friends and family, six ferries, one airport, a drive through downtown Vancouver, retreating on Galiano and leading a retreat on Bowen),
I looked forward to coming home to home,
to my Fred,
my kitchen, my plants,
the sparrows, finches,
and deer on the flowering switchbacks.
They were all waiting for me,
welcoming me with open arms.
I was back
and not back.
Between the leaving and the coming home,
I carried the weight of being human,
the weight of being this human,
in this body,
and I received joy:
Being this human is needed and cherished.
Then came a noticing of responsibilities that weren’t mine,
–to be neurotypical,
to reconcile,
to mitigate disappointment–
another letting go of what I cannot change,
another softening of the fear
that I’m not enough.
My mind says, “Wonderful.”
My feelings smile.
But my body wants to rest,
needs sleep
to allow the bones of my soul to heal,
and set this realignment of truth and light.
O my Beloved… You restore my soul.
–Psalm 23:3,
Psalms for Praying by Nan Merrill
An Everyday Pilgrim 