Horizon: Where the Earth meets the Sky
“I used to think the wilderness would never end.
I called my mom and asked –
Does time really heal all wounds?
Do the pieces ever fall back into place?
Does the wilderness go on forever?
So she told me about the horizon.
She said, ’There is an edge,
Where the earth meets he sky
And when you’re there,
You will see daisies in the sidewalk
And the sun after the rain.’
I asked her to draw me a map
And she cried,
Because she knew this road was mine to walk . . .
. . .
So I walked.
And it felt like forty days and it hurt like forty nights.
And I waved to the people I passed there in the wilderness.
We tipped our hats to one another,
Silently recognizing the weight we each carried,
Until one day, I realized –
The earth always kisses the sky.
And this wilderness has turned into a garden,
And I have made it out alive. . .. “
I’m touched by these poetic lines, infused with hope. They are part of a sacred poem by Sarah Are, called “Prayer.” When I first encountered it, weeks ago, the picture of earth and sky touching made me smile all over myself . . . and none too soon, I might add.
Even though magical, miraculous moments fall over themselves to get our attention, we so often and easily walk past them. Ok, but magic in horizons? Really? Yep. I’m starting to think about them as a place where humanity can sense connection to what’s beyond us, to the divine.
Think about how often they show themselves in stunningly incredible views: like during sunrises and sunsets . . . or where oceans melt into cloud banks, snow-capped mountains reach into heavenly blue skies, and golden wheat fields stretch miles toward the place where their heads wave into the heavens. Visible earth and sky connections lift me; they take me out of myself, like a shot of beauty right to the heart. And I actually feel the warmth of hope spread through me. “Good Stuff,” as my kid would say.
Wilderness is an individual space. But, like the poet, I know to find a place where earth and sky kiss, the best thing to do is walk on. So, I’m done plodding in place through this uncomfortable new normal. I think I’ll pick up my step, raise my head a bit and look around to catch a new sight line, a different perspective or two. I’m going horizon hunting. Mask up and join me . . . at the appropriate distance, of course.
My wish for each of you is that some place, some new horizon too beautiful to pass up will jump up in front of you, make you stop to get a better look, and bring you a jolt of hope. Good Stuff. . . like the poet’s ability to now “see daisies in the sidewalk, And the sun after the rain.”
As always, I wish you grace for this part of your journey,