When Kay laid bleeding in the street, she broke the final barrier between our perceived sense of safety and the reality that chaos, unknown and lack of shelter is a reality for all of us.
Trained as a clown and circus performer, she is the most qualified among us to take that trip down the rabbit hole. Mended with two staples and a bit of glue, she bears the physical mark of bodies hitting the concrete the rest of us will be discovering our internal bruises for long after this retreat.
For me, the reminder and remembering of violence and harassment towards women and the way I can be polite to those who abuse me but jump in front of a cane that's being swung like a baseball bat towards another.
Where do the generations and cycles of abuse find that famed space of "enough?" It is after all this illusive "enough" that we are all chasing: to be people with out want for less or need for more; to be people who help others find the "enough" we ourselves are still working, bleeding and crying for.
There are no easy answers or even easy questions. Though after seven days living on the streets and in the shelters, in the priceless joy of free and found parties and in the agony of abuse, addiction and loneliness I have in the fact had enough.
At least until next year.