Please bring strange things.
Please come bringing new things.
Let very old things come into your hands.
Let what you do not know come into your eyes.
Let desert sand harden your feet.
Let the arch of your feet be the mountains.
Let the paths of your fingertips be your maps
and the ways you go be the lines on your palms.
Let there be deep snow in your inbreathing
and your outbreath be the shining of ice.
May your mouth contain the shapes of strange words.
May you smell food cooking you have not eaten.
May the spring of a foreign river be your navel.
May your soul be at home where there are no houses.
Walk carefully, well loved one,
walk mindfully, well loved one,
walk fearlessly, well loved one.
Return with us, return to us,
be always coming home.
*from author and poet Ursula Le Guin, & perfect timing as I have been thinking a lot about what I bring (or don’t) to the table, to each relationship and encounter, versus or in addition to what I intend and hope I bring! Recently someone I don’t know well shared that he’d read a blog post I made ages ago now that concerned my relationship with his sister. He shared an update on their broken relationship (mine with her is also broken), and for days afterward I was overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and pain, real pain, for the experiences he shared with me and for the reality of what is continually a challenge in life: family ‘stuff,’ boundaries, betrayals, and knowing when, where, and how to draw the line. I felt, in fact, somehow responsible for their broken bond, even while logically I knew in that moment and since that I have zero responsibility, none, for their dynamic as siblings. Still, despite my inner turmoil, it’s much better to be a feeling human, than an unfeeling one, yes? Yes. It is. It is. Deep breaths.