The Road Just Ended
And then the road just ended. No fanfare. No signs. No warning. She just stopped. On the arctic circle at the edge of the world, pushing every last geographical and spiritual boundary available, the road fades out.
Iceland's Westfjords have a region called Hornstrandir. No humans have lived there in nearly 70 years. It's home to countless wild arctic foxes. No electricity, no plumbing, no vehicles allowed. You need special permits and hiking guides and an invincible pair of shoes. When the road finally reaches the edge of it all, the last wild place on earth, she simply stops.
Walking up to the edge it washed over me like a tidal wave; or in the context of Iceland, like a rushing waterfall. I'm done.
I did what needed doing. I learned what I didn't know I needed to learn. I healed what only time and solitude can heal. I released lifetimes worth of debris and static that needed releasing. And it just...ended. I never set a timeline on this walkabout but here at the edge of the world she calmly and clearly told me I'd done it.
The tears were proud and cathartic, no sadness. I built an altar with the same crystals I'd had with me since I boarded an Amtrak in Salt Lake City exactly two years earlier. I worked a bit of magic. And I walked away from the edge.