by Brenda Abrigo-Rich

No one would argue it was a long hike to get where she was, the path was at times steep and hard yet at other times beautiful and fulfilling.   With a sense of need, she kept going, one foot in front of the other believing that once she made it to the top, she would feel better.  

On and on she went, choosing a direction thinking it was for the best, believing it was what was required of her journey.  Here and there she would stop to catch her breath and look back at what she did.  She found that if she sat too long, she would keep looking back, thinking on the path behind her and regret which worn path she had taken and the what-ifs would encroach on her thoughts. Thus, she would push those feelings down, get up again and push on, one foot in front of the other. 

There were others here, she would walk with them and experience the delight of the trail with them but in the end, she knew that she had to do this on her own; she chose this, she needed to experience this for herself.  And even if it took her longer due to the choices she made, she would still get there.  

After so long she began to feel weary, she slowed and stopped more.  Allowed more of the darkness and regret to set in, because her inner self told her she was less as she saw all those that excelled, that moved faster, that found a supposedly easier path, leaving her in her erroneous beliefs behind.  

She forgot that it doesn’t matter how or when you get to your destination; is that you do.  And sometimes just knowing you need to is a destination in itself.  

Once she stepped up onto the last rock she had to stop and look out over the scene.  No one else was there, no one stood where she stood, no one save for herself experienced this state of being.  Instinctively she raised her arms out to her sides and then up towards the sky. Her eyes closed and she heard the wind, the birds, the trees; felt the ground under her and the breeze touch her skin; smelled the sweet scents on the wind, and in that moment, she was home and whole. And at the end of her journey.

Was she moving? She could have been, taking that one last step towards self.  How would it feel?

 Even for the second before . . . it felt like flying.   

© Brenda Abrigo-Rich, 2020, All Rights Reserved

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