My heart misses the desert, my home, familiar things like the smell of the changing seasons, like the way the sun beats down in the middle of December.
My soul aches for those who have been buried there, under the cactus and the vast blue sky.
I hold back my tears like the rain does on the desert rock, waiting, not letting them loose, now is not the time.
I want to die in the desert with my back against an Alligator Juniper and my eyes set on the expansive horizon.
Grey clouds outside. Marina St. house. This is a time in Shinay’s spiritual life when she is questioning everything. Who am I? Where do I want to go with my spirituality? I have been meditating more and I know that “more” is not enough. I need to do it daily. As I sit on the floor of yet another house, fingers pounding out a rhythm on the coffee table I’m overcome with thoughts of death and leaving this body and how at the completion of this cycle what will I be left with? “Nothing but my dignity,” said Lee.