Postcards #107 from Scotland

Today was the first day of rain, melancholy, and fog.

My father flew home today, and I’ll follow him and leave tomorrow. It’s hard to leave.

Heartaches are hidden in the rain, in the fog and in the rainy drive along the Loch Ness.

That’s my existential calling, to ponder on life’s meaning, and sometimes I’m still trying to run away from those feelings that are uncomfortable to feel. What an art it is to learn to welcome them and let them take their space, without wanting to do anything with them. Just breath.

I’m always looking for the light. And it’s always there, sometimes only in tiny waterdrops, or just a softly sparking on a leaf. Sometimes in a shared shadow. Mostly, it’s in the heart, coated by connection, by belonging, by love.

I have no answers. I bow. Our losses shape us, as a sculpture shapes the marble. We wouldn’t be the same person without them.



May we all make peace with our losses, with how we’ve become who we are. May this guide is in our becoming.




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