Day 17,065 Gratitude

I don't know what makes me think I can come home from Taos and put into words what it's done to me.  I can't.  Not last year.  Not this year.  Maybe not ever.  Time IS different there.  And so is pretty much everything else.  Those who've been there surely understand.  They are the ones to whom I cleave right now.  For comfort, yes, but also some assurance that what I experienced wasn't my imagination.  Taos is a thin place that can fill your heart to bursting and then leave you limp and raw.  It's a powerful place with little tolerance for anyone's ego.  Karma there can be a mighty swift bitch.  Soft mornings like the one captured above, where the mountains lay bare to the caress of rolling clouds as the sun rises above them, are solemnly viewed from boundaries that must not be trespassed.  There is devastating beauty all around.  Light and dark.  Hot and cold.  Bounty and lack.  That which is dying.  That which is bone dry.  It's all there (and more) to be witnessed, explored, and maybe even embraced.  Resistance is futile.  No one leaves there untouched, unchanged.  I will be back.  I can't resist.  And for that I am so grateful.