The sun is bleeding to death behind the mountains, but I am walking from it. Ahead, in the dark sky to the east, there is a star, first among equals.

When I began this journey, I was full of certainty; burdened by a sense of who I was, what I sought. I’ve travelled a long way since then, and the beauty of the half light has sunk into me. Listen, the harsh joyful cry of the heron. Look, seed heads of the dying plantain. I have learned to walk when I was too tired to sit upright, to welcome a bed neither clean nor soft. Harder than that, I learned to give away what I felt I myself needed to those who had more than me. I found I there was little I needed, and much they did..

I used to fear the dark of true night, when the moon herself is put out. Now the path itself has taken hold of me. Seeing or not seeing, it is always there.

The end? Yes, I walk and hope. There will be an end. I had thought of it as judgement, as praise and punishment. I had thought of it as glory and rejection. Now I think I would like to hold a child in my arms. At the end, a child to cradle and to cradle me.

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