Pilgrimage to Blue Lake

For so many years, you have built elaborate cairns

along the trail to the house of your self.

 

You have found just the right rocks for balancing,

just the point along the path where you might get lost—

 

so that in every season, in the deepest snow,

you can find your way back. Each time you come,

 

you lay a fire on the shoreline with the kindling

of your grief and delight—watch the flames burn slowly

 

at first—then fast and high as they quicken,

bringing light to dark spaces.  And so it is this day,

 

as you arrive on the shores of Blue Lake, you hear

a different cadence pulsing from the land—

 

and you wonder if it is time to build a stronger nest

for this next round of seasons, or if it is time to fledge

 

all together. You stand shaky, barely balanced on the edge

of this and that—while below stretches the great horizon

 

you long for, though you never believed you could walk

beyond these cairns you have so carefully tended.

 

And this sacred valley is filled with mist—for the light

has been drinking snow all day long. And in a devastating flash,

 

you see you must leave this place that has given you all it has.

You have been filled by such beauty—you can no longer stay—

 

for what is yours to give can no longer be given from here.

And so you take the stones from the cairns,

 

offer them to the lake and walk off

the edge of all you have ever known.

©LauraWeaver
LauraWeaver.org
luminouspoetry.com
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