Soaking Through

You’ve got to go on and get moving and I can’t do that for you
Got so many plans and so much you want to do

Love is tough, time is rough
On me

I think there’s something of an adult privilege in staying dry. The access to umbrellas, fancy raincoats from REI, running into the car. There are only a couple times in my adult life I have been absolutely, thoroughly soaked.

The most recent was this past Sunday in Camden, Maine on Mt. Megunticook.

Doing a five mile loop hike in the rain may seem like a bad idea, but for P and I, it was what we could muster. When you can’t talk, or think, or cry, or “process” any more, the rhythm of hiking and the drop of rain in the trees is perfect company.

As we trudged through a trail that was now more stream than path, I pushed. I moved faster, forcing my lungs to practically burn air, jogging up rock ledges and powering through the flats. It was like trying to physically exert the pain. To connect again to my feet, my soaked legs, my frigid hands, my mop of wet hair.

I noticed my frantic pace but couldn’t stop it. Until I wore myself out. Eventually I really looked around. Noticed the absurd beauty of the flooded forest. Looked at P’s hat, being washed for the first time ever, brown rivulets of years of dirt running down his face.

And we laughed.

And the rain looked like tears.

From the ocean viewpoint that was nothing but fog; from the path/stream where we both fell on our asses; from allowing ourselves to be soaked; from the painful, beautiful, soggy reality of it all.

And it’s one life and it’s this life and it’s beautiful

***

Dispatch this week to my sweet Kristin, in the form of money to continue the work of her non-profit Bodhi & Mind Yoga. Please click the previous link to join in as well. Namaste.

 

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