I’m not totally myself these days… and there are times when even trying to discern where I am or where I live becomes but mere forgotten dreams. Sometimes, right after waking up, when I’m still in that limbo between sleep and consciousness my brain tries to remember where I am, and for a split second my heart is a meanderings of voyages and I can’t remember where I am, or where I live, which house I am sleeping in, what room, what place?
It’s been quite an interesting journey for us this last year and a half and my soul is starting to feel like a bird in search of its nest after a storm… where to go hide from the world? Or find shelter? And be free and rest… really rest?
I fly my own skies with a restless spirit... And I don’t even know what I want anymore. When I’m in the South, my soul dwells in the past and yearns for everything which once had constituted our life here in the North. Strangely, now that I’m here I have come to the realization that the life I once knew and loved is no more. Life reveals itself in a strange, unfamiliar way, and nothing is the same any more. The familiar, the customary and expected have a puzzling uncertainty to it and I find myself ridiculously yearning for the life we now have in the South…
My soul is fractured—a strange loneliness taunted by the memories of a once ideal existence… but where? In a previous life? In a future one?
I am comforted by the peace of the wild things…
The Peace of Wild Things
(By Wendell Berry)
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water,
and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light.
For a time I rest in the grace of the world,
and am free.