On this last day in England (for the time being) I just walked down to the High Street of the London suburb I've been staying in. In the end, putting aside the grand and the glorious, it's really about the little things: the half dozen local "charity" shops (run by the major charities like Oxfam), the red buses going by, the (mostly) tiny cars shoehorned into even tinier spaces. It's the pate, the stilton cheese, the Danish Lurpak (despite what it sounds like, it's a brand of butter...), the chocolate digestive biscuits. It's walking through the town green, with its white cricket club, dog walkers, and nursery children playing on the grass. It's the Victorian architecture which always makes me smile. It's the rhythm of this place, accessing me both horizontally and up through the earth.
So yes, I've been a little weepy. But as I become more and more convinced that there is no death, and no end to divine love, then it must follow that there is no separation from the things, people and places that we love. All the little snapshots of these last few weeks boil down to a handful of feelings: joy, comfort, home, spiritual and musical fulfillment, and love. Those cannot be taken away, and I'm learning not to give them away.
I may have spent only a small percentage of my life in England, but my, what an impact it has had. My flight back to the US will be a meditation in gratitude. There surely can't be a more fortunate "girl" in the world.
