swimming for my own shore

it has been two weeks now that i have been back on the island of key west. i am different now, somehow. i had forgotten it is like this, after the camino. i am a sea turtle swimming for my own shore.

i ride the bicycle slowly along the small streets, frangipani blooms, an old cat naps in the shade, palms wave overhead, jasmine fills the air. i don’t know if anyone even noticed i was gone. i have surfaced now. i take a deep breath. and then another.

it was not so long ago that i was on the road, that long, strange camino … feeling the edges of my life, coming up before the blue door, this strange portal to soul or my own truth … each day, again and again, like some sweet and odd meditation … i found myself there at its threshold.

i make a quick stop at the corner store, the one almost famous for it’s rich con leches. i am able to understand most of the conversation that the cuban men standing in front of me have while they wait for their buccis. the camino taught me another language, a few of them in fact. i smile and order in spanish without meaning to.

i wheel down olivia street, trying to make it back to the magical and mystical turtle house before the rain that hangs heavy in the cloud above me lets go, i try to remember how it felt to walk 8 hours a day. my feet resting on rusty pedals have almost forgotten. was it just a dream?

i sit with my coffee on the small porch of the conch house and watch the rain splash on the wooden deck. gratitude rises in my heart like one thousand golden suns. the blue door appears before me again. it is different now, somehow. i touch to the small piece of silver hanging around my throat. a gift from a cosmos man i met there on the road.

and now, as i swim steadily for my own shore, once again at the threshold of the blue door, la puerta azul, i understand that i now hold the key.

thekey

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