Pilgrims

My psychiatrist asked my why I went on my pilgrimage,

It wasn’t in my heritage,

I’m not religious,

And the way was perilous,

She asked me if it had helped me,

Kinda but not really,

She asked me what I learned from it,

I replied “ummm, not one bit!”

But that was a lie,

I learned I didn’t want to die,

It didn’t matter if I could fly,

I’d figure out how to get by,

Or at least now I was willing to try,

I learned how to not give in,

That it was ok to indulge again,

And have fun now and then,

every mile helped teach me zen,

For over 500 miles or more ,

Until my feet bled red gore,

And my back was sore,

Until my backpack was wore

Out and I reached the sea,

And a woman gave letter to me,

stating quite succinctly:

“Congratulations, you have reached Muxia you are resolved of all of your sins.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her. But some of the ghosts were gone.