I cannot say

I cannot say

If it was the leaving

Or the arriving

Which was more unsettling.

Leaving:

With all its uncertainty

Abandoning the familiar,

The known,

The almost predictable

for a search

with no assurance

of arrival.

Arriving:

Now there

Is the real mystery.

In the mundane

A majesty:

In the poverty

Real riches:

And knowing

From this one moment

Of real encounter

That I can never

Be the same again.

Poem by Jeannie Kendall, reproduced with permission