On the bank of the River Ness, I cast my sight into the water. It drops, like a stone, vision falling into the depths.
I know now I don't need it. The world is so much more wonderful without it, filled with songs and stories, kindness and joy, deep connection and sensual pleasure. And this place proves it, more than most, made of senses that sing and people who are happy to help, sacred spaces felt more than seen and acceptance that hums underfoot.
It sinks to the bottom, a votive offering to old gods and ancient sea creatures. As it does, I feel lighter, happier, freer. I don't have to struggle with what I can't see, grapple with old ghosts, or worry about fogged futures. Instead, I can just be me, and know it's more than enough.
A weight lifts from my heart, and heals old wounds. Because I know that life can be lived without sight, and can be lived well.
And as I walk away from the river, I pave a new path, footsteps springing with wonder as my long cane swishes from side to side.
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