A Journey Beyond Sight: Rediscovering Mexico’s Soul with Reece O’Bryan

I left Kentucky with a cane in my hand,
And a lifetime of hills in my bones.
The world was dark, but I understood
That darkness does not mean alone.

I knew every road by the sound of it,
Every porch by the creak of its floor.
I knew home by the wind through the trees,
And the way rain knocked on the door.

Then I came south where the air felt different,
Where the heat clung close to my skin.
Mexico spoke in a thousand voices,
And I stood at the edge, listening.

I learned the streets by their footsteps,
The markets by their smell and sound.
I learned that a man can be lost for years
And still find himself on foreign ground.

Sometimes I miss the Kentucky mornings,
The cold, the hills, the familiar rain.
Sometimes memory comes like an old song,
Sweet enough to hurt again.

But home is not always where you started.
Sometimes home is the place you choose.
Sometimes you have to walk into darkness
Before you discover what you cannot lose.

So I keep moving beneath foreign skies,
With no eyes to tell me where to go.
I have learned what sighted men forget:

A man does not need to see the road
To know he is still walking forward.