This is my gift to you all. I hope it’s enough. If it’s not or if it doesn’t resonate, then my gift to you is the vulnerability expressed in the giving.
As we leave, let us not long for the protective, warm embrace of Nimea Kaya. Let us not seek only harbors. Instead, let’s carry the following.
Let the sounds and feel and smells of the jungle seep into you. Don’t grasp at them or try to hold them fast. Open yourself to them and let go of remembering.
In the days ahead, let your tears be agua de florida being gently streaked down your cheek by the shaman.
Let your ears hear icaros in a birdsong, in the creaking of a floor beneath your feet, even in the whisper of a passing car.
Let your pain remind you that the work is ongoing but that you already initiated it with intention and courage.
Remind yourself frequently of the astonishing improbability of the fact that, between the infinity behind us and the infinity ahead, we are conscious in this singular moment.
Remember to breathe.
In the incomprehensibly vast history of the universe, there has never been a night exactly like last night in ceremony—and there will never be another. But we lived that one. We lived it.
Our living it and our sitting this circle together today is our collective song to the universe—our icaro.