The end of the world

Good morning from the end of the world.

Yachats exists in a place in between an end and a beginning.

Its magnetic pull beckons.

It calls us to be bigger than we’ve been.

To find that place within each of us where we know we belong. We are loved. We are ourselves.

I’ve heard many people call Yachats a vortex.

I don’t know. We all have our own language for the divine.

Our journeys brought us this way, facing the setting sun, tucked gently between sea and mountain.

These words are a few that rise when I feel into the meaning I find here.

Please do share yours if they come. If you’re here, why are you here?

As I sit in this open space, I’m reminded of a poem I read recently from Anglo-Irish poet David Whyte.

He wrote about the end of a pilgrim path in northern Spain at Cape Finisterre, one of the western-most points in continental Europe.

I feel a recognition here.

FINISTERRE

by DAVID WHYTE

The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,
into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you
as you stood where ground turned to ocean: no way
to your future now but the way your shadow could take,
walking before you across water, going where shadows go,
no way to make sense of a world that wouldn’t let you pass
except to call an end to the way you had come,
to take out each frayed letter you had brought
and light their illumined corners; and to read
them as they drifted on the western light;
to empty your bags; to sort this and to leave that;
to promise what you needed to promise all along,
and to abandon the shoes that had brought you here
right at the water’s edge, not because you had given up
but because now, you would find a different way to tread,
and because, through it all, part of you would still walk on,
no matter how, over the waves.