It’s been more than fifteen years now since that monsoon night.
The night when I ran wild-eyed, naked, barefoot through the desert. That night I stumbled and flew frantic as the Catalinas lit up from behind with lightning. The desert floor shuddered with thunder. My mind and body racing. Fleeing. A night when every snippet of sound and every colored light meant something.
It took months for the cactus to work its way out of my feet. Embedded and sore as my mind cleared and my spirit calmed; the tiny spines worked their way to the surface.
Now, I find myself asking:
“Are they there still festering in my soles? In my soul?”
Because fifteen years later, I run through the desert again. Sometimes feeling naked and barefoot even now. Incredulous that I, no longer a girl, still have a heart that rages. That drives me out there.
But it is different now.
I may be restless. I may even look lost.
But I know I am not, really.
This time, the monsoon desert smells familiar. It smells of sage and creosote and new construction. And the moonlight…illuminates a path.
A path leading to one place, and one place only.
This time, I will collapse in the shadow of a moon crossed.
Dusty, tear-stained and humbled. Broken.
And there is a gentle hand. Cupping my chin. Lifting my face. Wiping my tears.
Flooding my weakness with strength.
The rage settles out to calm.
Peace can be found even in an angry heart.
And I know that I can huddle here until the storm passes.
Until the sun rises.
Sonrise in the desert is the most.beautiful.thing.