My body is streaked with sweat and dirt from my desperate search to find safe shelter.
I’m barefoot, in a grimy torn t-shirt and shorts; my hands and feet caked with dirt.
My hair is filthy and matted. My mouth is dry; I can smell and taste the gritty dust that hangs in the air.
I sit down on a curb at the side of the road, and I know it’s over.
I’m unbelievably weary, all my energy spent in the act of sitting down.
I’m devastated…emotionally, mentally, and physically, and the worst of my wounds are invisible.
My eyes fill up, but no tears fall. I can only sit amid the rubble, trying to trust the safety of the gray, silent sky.
But I made it up the many, unforgiving mountain climbs.
I’m on the other side looking at the carnage, no way to fully wrap my mind over my truth yet, but I know
that I’m resilient, I’m courageous, I fought through.
And the words of Joseph Campbell resonate within me. I’m the hero of my story.
image borrowed from google images