Grief lessons from my barefoot walkabout

The first, intentional step into pain takes a lot of courage.

I can avoid those things that would add unnecessary suffering to my suffering.

The others who came before, those protected from the Earth, won't be able to know the experience in this way.

Things (I) will get broken.

I can miss the stickers if I pay attention.

Even when I cannot see it, the sun exists. It's vanishing is an illusion.

Rocks hurt when they get between my toes.

It's not all uphill.

There is more than just one way.

Sometimes I have to get on all fours to make it up the crags.

I've been to the edge and not fallen off.

Sometimes I need to pause on a cool, smooth rock or a mound of soft dirt,

and breathe through the pain.

I need to shed a few things, perhaps-once-helpful-but-now-a-hindrance -things, along the way to make it through the journey.

Beauty exists there, right next to the pain.

I can't always see around the corner, but I trust and continue.

There are no real short cuts.

If I am open to it, I can find love along the way.

Others have come too.

The destination matters.

Sometimes, I can lean on the unexpected.

I am grateful for the easy steps.

I cannot always identify things on my path.

Sometimes I must look back at where I've been for the strength to endure.

I cannot shade myself. Only another can provide shade for me and me for another.

From pain and sacrifice, I am able to become more fully human.