Pilgrimage

Jul 19

I walk on a coastal path past my home and a string of other beach houses to a large, wooded hill. A sherpa lightly presses his hand under my elbow. Our way is lit only by a full moon and the spare lighting from upstairs windows. A path leads up through the woods to the hilltop. The clearing at the top is circled by bigleaf maples, Douglas firs, and red alders. There is a small canteen, teak benches scattered here and there. I find my mother, who died 15 years ago, dressed in a diaphanous grey robe, sitting on one of the benches. I sit and she takes my hand. She tells me about my ancestors and as she speaks, she points to some of them walking about the clearing. Everyone except me is robed. Later I realize they are all dead. I am proud to be part of this lineage. It is time for me to go. Do you need a sherpa, my mother asks, but I say I can find my way back. I carefully pick my way down the hill to the path leading to my home, the Pacific Ocean smashing rocks on my right, a line of windows on my left blinking like fireflies.

“Pilgrimage” Unbroken #50: Exhibition of Strange Offerings, July, 2026