“It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.
She looks back at the path she has traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.
And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.
But there is no other way.
The river can not go back.
Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in existence.
The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that’s where the river will know
it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.”
~ Khalil Gibran (The River Cannot Go Back)
I had just arrived at the hospital when it grew dark. Today was not the hottest day ever recorded in Kentucky (97 vs. 102), but with a dew point of 77, the heat index was well over 100 and opening the door to the outdoors felt like opening an oven. Walking across campus had me feeling like I’d just stepped out of my hot morning shower, though the smell was markedly different. Then, quite unexpectedly, a wall of much-needed water came from the east. The temps dropped 25 degrees in thirty minutes as the parched earth soaked a half inch of rain. The Bluegrass got a refresh, and so did Mom, as they installed a picc line for her antibiotics. With it, we’re hoping she can come home tomorrow. At this point, nothing would improve her state of being more than being home with her dog and her bed and her kitchen. It would do us all a lot of good.
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