Restless limbs entangled in sheets that aren’t mine, in a room that carries no familiarity at all. I ache with fatigue, yet sleep evades me, leaving me to wrestle with my anxiety under the glow of a full moon so potent, it brought tears to the temple floor.
It seems, my growth is challenging me.
During these days, spent on land I have not traversed before, feet pounding on course ground, taking turns I have no confidence in, I feel the weight of my past mistakes, carried in my heart like stones. I cannot let go, yet the heat of the Sri Lankan sun, which follows so closely my every move, causes me to perspire in such a way that it feels like a purge. A purification. Embarked upon as willingly as is possible, when the suffering is too great to hold on to.
I sit at the feet of the Buddha with my eyes held by an old soul in young skin, one who knows what it is to live with heartache, to know and yet doubt. Our paths long entwined and now crossing in new locations, bringing a richness to our connection that fills me with life.
I am reminded of what it has taken to get here. Of what has gone before. Of what must be left behind.
The acknowledgment of my own betrayals. To myself. My heart. My soul. These new days, which have been set upon me, feel like sacred challenges, asking more of me than I have had the capacity to give before. They seek forgiveness. Require compassion. Demand courage. In return, they offer me the shedding of ancient burdens. Of which I have held onto like a life raft, sparing me from drowning in my own sea of emotional despair.
It’s time to swim.
Voices in the courtyard penetrate through the walls. Time ticks on and the sleeplessness fails to dissipate. Yet I am learning to sit with the discomfort. With the uncertainty of what tomorrow brings. Or indeed the next day. Or the next place.