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Suddenly, it became clear to me. Like spying an elusive shoreline at last, its dark outline materializing from within a dense fog, this indistinct feeling I have been carrying about with me crystallizes. As if some extra weight had somehow been tucked unawares into my pack, my legs had been feeling the subtle heaviness of bearing it, though I’d not been able to locate nor name its source.

A bit “lost” was how I’d put it in a brief descriptor to my spouse, when he’d asked, but later, responding in writing to a friend’s invitation to come to her place for a visit, the words unfolded the feeling, as they often do for me when putting pen to paper and I discover what ‘I know that I didn’t know I knew’. This feeling is not ‘lost’ so much as it is a feeling of rootlessness, of being adrift.

While the word ‘rootless’ indeed fits in some ways – after all it is hard to grow deep roots when one is constantly pulling oneself up and plunking oneself into a different soil, and blossoms never quite develop fully (its seems the prescription to ‘bloom where you are planted’ requires staying put) – the word ‘adrift’ feels more accurate somehow. Afloat in my boat, searching the shoreline through heavy fog, for the fire that signals Home. Though I stop frequently along the way to visit – commune even- at warm and welcoming fires, at the end of each visit, I pack up my tent and move along because the feeling of being a guest becomes wearying in its own kind of way.

Perhaps we all feel like transient visitors at times (or always?). Deep down the longing for belonging never really goes away, it just quiets from time to time, sleeping soundly in the arms of occasional intimacies.

Yesterday the question came to me, ‘What is your idea of a meaningful life’? Again, there was this putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, in this case) and being surprised at the wisdom of that quiet voice within me, who given the opportunity to be heard whispers her truth.

‘An intimate life’, she said.

Intimate -with place, with self, with the other– of the human and non-human variety. Being known and knowing deeply. Such intimacy requires a certain kind of slowing, a stillness, a deeper attention- listening, observing – a being with.

Dwelling with.

Now I also expect that when I accept the invitation to stay awhile at those welcoming, neighboring fires, I am so often invited to stay awhile longer because the other is longing for the same kind of intimacy that my soul so readily bares and shares. There is a richness to the feast of such sharing, and we human beings are so hungry.

But yesterday morning, I knew it was time- time to pack my gear, load my canoe, paddle into the stillness of the morning, into the rising mists of dawn, continue my search for that familiar rise of land, that particular slope of granite, that sheltering grove of pine, that circle of stones that is my home hearth, where i am not stranger, but home.

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Karen
    Jul 15, 2018 @ 16:56:25

    Once again you put words to my heart. I am grateful, as always, to know that I am not alone in how I am. Namaste dear one.



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