I went down memory lane.
I’m not sure how I found it
or why I felt compelled to go down it.
But I did.
This memory lane is lined with the titles of my blog posts,
with the days, months, years of publication,
scattered with the words of a young girl,
a young woman, really,
seeking her place in the world,
The voice was so familiar and yet, distant.
Was that really me?
That hunger for truth?
That unrelenting loyalty to her heart,
to what she felt was True and Good, and God?
Was that really me?
The girl that wanted freedom from attachments,
than the having of things,
The girl that wanted to freedom from the fear of money,
than money itself?
The girl that wanted, more than being seen by others,
more than being loved by others,
more than being friended by other,
more than all of those things,
the girl that simply wanted to be herself?
I read my old blog posts,
while texting Soul,
I can smell,
I can feel,
I can touch
the truth in her desire,
the wisdom in her veins,
the cheekiness in her typed out laughter.
I can taste her love,
the vibrant life within,
even when she was so afraid she was doing ‘wrong’,
going a ‘weird’ way,
potentially to never be ‘found’ again.
I can tell, she knew.
She knew something that she couldn’t explain to anyone.
She knew something only she knew.
She knew a depth that no one had taught her to swim in.
And she leapt in.
Because… because why?
Because there was nowhere else to go.
Because her little heart knew.
Life was on the other side.
The other side of this crazy inexplicable faith.
Beyond the whole concept of ‘God’,
of the Bible,
of right and wrong,
of anything that had ever been taught or spoken or done.
Her little heart knew.
And her little heart was stubborn.
Because her little heart wanted to live.
To live out loud,
to paint her life with blood,
to dance the rhythm of her little beating heart,
to be lost in the wonder of it all.
And she followed that thread.
Such a teeny tiny thin little thread.
No one taught her.
And no one needed to.
Through her fears,
the teachings and thoughts of others,
she followed that thread,
a thin thin, almost sorry excuse for hope.
It felt like the only possibility for the life she wanted to live.
If this thread wasn’t it, she was willing to go down for it.
And it would have been a worthy cause,
to search for something she believed *might* be there,
and let go of what was so easily presented as a “life”.
She sought and sought and sought and sought.
With every breath,
every moment afforded her,
every molecule in her body,
She walked and walked and walked,
and she walked, the thread became thicker.
Thicker and thicker and thicker,
until she no longer had to hold onto it,
she no longer could.
Because the thread of hope, of faith became so entwined with her life, that it became the air she breathed.
It filled the atmosphere,
it filled her lungs,
it filled her heart.
And she knew,
she knew that she knew that she knew
this was what she had been after this whole time.
Encapsulated within her heart,
waiting for her to come home,
she found that she had journeyed all the way around the world,
through her consciousness,
through her pain,
through her loneliness,
to know herself.
Not herself the human.
Herself, a human expression of god.
Herself, a god expression.
And the tears came,
because I could see the yearning
and the knowing of something that was true,
not knowing if it was really true,
but seeking anyway.
The tears came,
because I am looking back,
at the young girl,
the young woman,
who put everything on the line to seek her own path,
and became me.
because I look inside of me
and I see that girl,
and I see that she knew a thing or two.
And now I am living the life I’ve always wanted.
in mundane ecstasy.
She was never lost.
She came here to know this, to remember who she is.
And I live the fruits of that journey.
And I continue this path,
but with less of a limp,
and more of a dance,
less of a drag,
and more of giddiness.
Because, to some extent,