There is a pillar of stone in the middle of a deep, gurgling swamp. On top of the pillar is a small fire, some food, a basket for collecting rain water, and a tent. The food never quite runs out, the fire never fully extinguishes. Rain always comes, eventually. Atop the pillar she watches the seasons pass, charts the stars in their courses, observes the alligators and piranhas down in the muck live their lives, and some nights when the moon is dark she sees a glimmer of something in the far distance. There is something beyond the swamp's borders, something more than a pillar of stone, food, water and shelter. She has tried to reach it many times.
It always happens the same way; she will feel brave, prepared both mentally and physically. She has a Plan to avoid the alligators and piranhas. This time will be different. This time she will succeed, moving forward bearing the marks of previous journeys; bite marks, scratch scars, and those inside where she wakes at night. In the past she had been rescued by others passing by, people with nice boats who returned her to the pillar, healed her wounds, then left on their own journey. Rescue comes when she can no longer fight off the creatures of the swamp, when she is bleeding from a hundred wounds and is ready to lay down and drown, when the stench of it, the deep sucking mud has pulled the strength right out of her bones.
The stars pass overhead many times, shifting slowly in their eternal dance with the sun and moon. The food never quite runs out. The rain always comes eventually. The shimmer on the horizon continues to beckon in the night but she sits with her back to it and instead gazes into the fire. Here she is warm and safe.
via Fat and Not Afraid http://ift.tt/2q9Z00T
