Crossing the Line….

I am not one who is prone to tears. Never have been. A childhood filled with abuse teaches one that tears only bring reasons for more, and tends to create an intrinsic stoicism … but sometimes it crumbles. As I crossed the border from Texas to New Mexico, the facade collapsed and warm salty drops stung my eyes, quickly cascading down my cheeks. I pulled over. New Mexico in the distance In the hazy distance, sandy red rock jutted mysteriously from the flat burned land. I had finally made it. A longing born somewhere in the microscopic cells of my mind many long decades ago, fueled with maps and stories and books. A dream I unknowingly shared with my Father. A hope buried deep in quiet spaces of my heart … a hunger to “go west”. And I was here at last.

In my teens – what seems like a hundred lifetimes ago – I read a book, “The Haunted Mesa” by Louis L’Amour. An easy read, and one of the few fiction novels I’d ever bought, it somehow crept into my spirit and ignited a curiosity about the lands of mesas & arches, of peaks & pinyon, and of ravens dancing in a sky as blue as the ocean. A desire to know the spirit that not only inhabits a landscape that stretches far beyond what the eye can see, but also moves deep within the souls of those who walked here eons ago. In my early 20’s, I bought another book, “National Parks of the West”, and it became Map 2my ‘wish book’. I leafed through it endlessly, dreaming of the day I would see those places, and a few years later I shared it with the man who became my husband … but his dreams were only of Caribbean seas and piña coladas, so vacations were spent in cabanas while I kept hope of plateaus alive in my heart. The years went by, and occasionally I’d suggest we “travel west” for something different … not possible was always the reply. A decade came and so did the separation. I got little in the divorce … but I had The Book. And the map with routes outlined and towns carefully circled … the blueprint of a long-held prayer. Now I was finally here, beginning the Ride’s journey deep into the soul of these lands I have longed for so long to see. Is it a calling? Something conceived before I was a heartbeat in the heavens? Perhaps so. I do not know. But as I crossed that line between states, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’d also crossed a line in my own history….

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5 thoughts on “Crossing the Line….

  1. I teared up driving thru Arizona on the way to the Grand Canyon, with the windows down and my favourite song blasting in the rental car. It was one of those rare perfect moments. Hold on to your moment.
    : )

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  2. Catherine, tears start at your heart. They come for many reasons but only when needed. Never deny yourself that outlet. I really feel sorry for those that cannot or will not cry. We are after all just humans.

    Like

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