The day I went home.
If there is one thing the West taught me - it is that the home of a wanderer is all places. I exist within my own dreams and wherever those take me is my home. For now, home is origin. Home is in the middle of the coordinate plane so that I have an entire four quadrants to plan around.
Birds belong in the sky; they are always traveling until they find home. They have many homes. They make home. Home does not make them.
I am free from my blackest demons and everything is okay. It just took . . . time.
It is simply astounding how sound affects the human heart. How I feel alive with Band of Horses. It is calling to start new, to become all that is inside. I believe that through that - all things come. I've been so consumed with relations, too consumed. I am ready for things that do not exist so I chase them.
All this time I've just needed to detach and become the chase, not the chasing.
Stillness is just an awful state when it has been reached due to a refusal to slow down.
[Footnote] I am going to do that.
1 comment:
we all wander. we all search.
sometimes the light is but a shadow.
sometimes the shadow is the light.
we chase will-o-wisps in the dark because we think them magic
then we cry when we are burnt.
still we search, for in our hearts we know
love shines brightest in the dark
keep trying kid.
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