excerpt form the Journal of Krish...
We were up and waking long before the sunrise. The night air was cold and in spite of the fog, we traveled straight and true. We have stopped and are now resting after we had peformed the morning ritual of the sunrise. The fog is slowly lifting as the morning warms my tired legs.
I am tired, but I can not sleep for long. I can feel the drawing down of the darkness ahead. I can not see Carnac or the house near the grove, but I can feel it pulling me through the mist. I believe the rest will be there, to send Carnac to the next life, but I can not see that far ahead. Sam tells me not to worry,we will all be there, and she is right.
To clear my thoughts I have started reciting the history of the people to Sam as we walk. She knows the stories and is used to my storytelling or singing as we travel. It is that familiarity that I hope will help me gather the words I will speak at the ceremony. As much as the tradition of passing the histories to young people is important, this one moment means everything to me. The old ways are a comfort to both of us.
If my old teachers saw me writing in a scroll, all of these thoughts and ideas, they would laugh at such foolishness. But, I still do so every day. I don't think there is a story or song in my fears or dreams. I do think it is important I write this down, to feel what I feel. Someone will read it and maybe understand a bit of our brief time in this life.
The task at hand is calling, time to finish my tea and for us to continue our passage to the valley, to home. It is like walking into a wind, but the urgency and the desire to honor our friend is strong and we will be there.
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