The invitation comes:
Close your eyes to breathe,
to arrive, as Buddhist monks,

step by step, walk into the
nation’s capital 110 days after
setting out on their 2,300-mile

journey for peace. Some days
I wish that I had not arrived
at this too-tender spot,

my whole body a fleshy,
aching mass, mourning
for what has vanished.

The monks remind us, day
after day, that change is
inevitable, that everything

dies—and too soon adds
Mary Oliver. They teach that there
is no past, no future, only now.

I have arrived; I am home,
Thich Nhat Hanh calligraphed
in a circle again and again

before his spirit made its
final journey. He, like so many
others, taught that this moment,

this now, is where we have
all arrived. Which is when
I remember that none of us

walks alone. If I look over
my shoulder, I see a long line
of beloveds following,

stopping when I stop,
moving forward when I take
a step. I close my eyes,

breathe and feel them,
the arrived, right here,
peacefully, all of us

going on and on as one.

•••

In honor of the venerable monks who have walked over the past 110 days
from Fort Worth, Texas, to Washington, D.C., spreading and being met
with kindness from thousands who have volunteered to feed them,
tend their aching bodies and give them shelter and all manner of support.
May our journey of peace continue on this planet as the monks
are taken safely home, as we, forever changed, follow in their footsteps.