Above the mountains
the geese turn into the light again
Painting their black silhouettes
on an open sky.
Sometimes everything has to be inscribed
across the heavens
so you can find the one line
already written inside you.
Sometimes it takes a great sky
to find that small, bright and indescribable
wedge of freedom in your own heart.
Sometimes with the bones of the black sticks left
when the fire has gone out
someone has written
in the ashes of your life.
You are not leaving.
You are arriving.
(This poem was given to us at our last month at Kairos. One of the facilitators pulled me aside and pointed this out to me. When I read it, I was deeply moved. Not leaving, Arriving.)