Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
--Kahlil Gibran
I'm about a week away from Xela and my experiences there. I write that with a sadness that sits in the back of my heart. It doesn't overwhelm me, and I am thankful for that, but it does remain a constant presence. However, sadness has a companion: Joy. Kahlil Gibran puts it well.
I rode away from the city through the mountains at eye level with the clouds. We said our goodbyes, and I found it fitting that my cloudy view matched my cloudy thoughts and emotions. How is it possible to want so badly to be able to be in two places at once?
Since returning, I've said that sometimes it feels like my time in Xela was just a dream--that it didn't really happen. Yet my life here feels like a dream as well. I'm a little curious as to what it will be like to really wake up.
I'm trying not to forget. I don't want to lose what I learned in Guatemala...the language, the way of life, the problems, the solutions, the observations, the experiences...I don't want to lose these things that have become a part of me. So I talk about them and relive them in my mind in the hope that what is clay will turn into concrete in my mind.
As I've said before, my adventures in Guatemala really helped me to appreciate even more my friends and family here. My love for them grew exponentially, and I didn't think that was at all possible since my heart had been overflowing even before I left. I'm beginning to see a similar process happening with Xela and those that I love there. Let me end, as I began, with another Kahlil Gibran quote:
When you part from your friend, you grieve not: For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
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