You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself
- Hindu Prince Gautama Siddharta
This week I found myself in Beaver Creek, Long Island Sound, Manhattan, Houston and now I am resting my hat in Santa Fe for the weekend.
As I passed from place to place, airport to rental car, ocean to desert, I became more introspective. Nothing makes you contemplate life like sitting in an airport, watching the world go by.
I now I sit in a Santa Fe cafe and watch tourquoise clad tourists in cowboys hats (admittedly, I am one of them).
I was here last year, just weeks after we lost Samanta, searching for some thing, some way, some guidance onto the next step. I collected holy dirt, I prayed, I got my body massaged, I praticed the fine art of retail therapy and I searched.
It is a year later. And although I am still searching, perhaps I have found solace in the crazy comfort that I will always be searching.
I don't know if I will ever trust the path; it can change so quickly. The best laid plans are only that, plans.
But a year later I trust that my footing is sound and my gait is solid. I guess that is all I can rely on.
And I still find myself collecting holy dirt, and praying.
I didn't cry this year until I hung a Ben's Bells at the Sanctuario de Chimayo. They are so lovely, our Ben's Bells, so simple and perfect with their message....
I hung it on a tiny tree in the middle of the sanctuary and hoped that someone who needed it would find it.
As I walked away, I heard the sweet, tiny chime of the bell in the desert wind. It was then that I started to cry for the simple beauty Samantha has taught me, for the people she has brought into my life and in the relief I found after a year.
And I sprinkled a little holy dirt on the bell, for extra-good juju.
And then I sprinkled a little on myself.
My little author's note: I have had the most amazing people reach out and post the last couple weeks. I wanted to thank you. I am so very happy we are on this journey together.