I walked a labyrinth.
Painted with highway paint.
Lavender.
On asphalt.
I walked barefoot.
The pavement hot.
An occasional pebble under my wimpy feet.
A sticker left by a school-aged child.
I felt the others.
I felt their energy.
As we walked in silence.
Leaving our baggage at the entrance.
Except my baggage followed me in.
This time.
The sadness of my saddest child.
I carried him with me.
I wondered what others were carrying.
The heat of the sun on my face and feet.
The hum of the air conditioner.
The occasional screech from a child on the playground.
Stay present.
I wanted to hug them all.
Each one.
To take the burden off of what they brought in.
I so desperately wanted to hug them.
As our shoulders grazed.
It’s a small labyrinth.
Made for children.
But this morning it was ours.
The closeness of our shared mission.
To meditate, be present.
To walk in silence.
And then I cried.
Tears of sadness.
Tears for him.
Tears of realization.
That the longing to hug was for me.