seeking

are you looking for something? something you can’t remember losing, something you hardly even remember, but undeniably you know it’s missing? do you find yourself searching, dressing the part to step out into the noise without anyone knowing you are seeking, reaching, hunting for the missing piece of a faded memory? grasping for the whispy tail of a longing for remembering?

And do you go and navigate out there, only to feel a distinct kind of pressure, an aloneness that is closing in, a misunderstanding causing a contentious battle with the flow of life? All these bodies are moving around you, laughing, talking, doing and you are doing your best to stay with it, to play along but you start to question “am i crazy?” because the nagging feeling of being alone, of needing to look for something lost won’t stop creeping in.

you find yourself leaning back a little more, drifting up, away, out. Sometimes through thoughts, other times through what numbs the mind, the heart, the feelings cause there is no more room in you for unanswered questions and dead end roads and you are so so tired of feeling aimlessly alone. You wonder if anyone understands while simultaneously growing hesitant at letting yourself even be seen. You slip silently away from the empty conversations and you disappear into busy streets, floating through crowds, wandering, eyes blindly seeking. you know not what.

You wonder tentatively if you will feel the missing piece if it ever clicks into place and actually arrives. But you quickly shift your attention elsewhere because this is contemplating the vast i'mpossible unknown. and you get overwhelmed with the question “how?" on surround sound. yet you are holding the skirt of the mystery in your too small hand, you look in wonder and then you look away, feeling to small to meet the magnitude. You turn again into the endless crowd and feel the ironic force of aloneness even in space so full of other beings who in their own way are also reaching and seeking. the question of sanity returns along with the wonder of what that even means. your curiosity cups the juxtapositions of longing and emptiness and loneliness and crowds and mysterious hemlines of infinity simultaneously in the soft sanctuary of one heartbeat. and for a moment you give pause, and let this inquiry sink deep down and in.

but still you push on, trying, doing, putting on the face of everything's ok, cause that is what you have been taught and told you do. you keep going through the motions, unfulfilled, holding a secret seeking in the back corner of your heart. days and weeks and months and years go by. but every now and again an irregular heart beat reminds you of the wild call to track down the missing. inevitably, eventually, in your own courageous timing you again go seeking. now hoping against hope that it leads some where this time, that it crack free the mundane, that it unlocks the floodgates of your uninhibited aliveness. you dare not dream to bold or big for fear that it actually might be possible, or not possible, or you’re not sure… you want something different but you feel the ledge, the precipice, the scary place where choice is calling out for something completely different to be awakened and engaged.

and you know you must listen this time. you know you must face the trail thats calling and pay attention, like a huntress on the scent of the sought. so you head out in a hurry before your knowing courage fades or your self doubt again gets in the way. and instead of the usual well paved paths you’e stayed close to in the past, you choose an unlikely detour, blindly following the wild hair that is leading. trusting instinct over logic. and in your own great turning toward the rhythm of wisdom pulsing within, you remember the hem line of the mystery you once held. you feel in your fingertips a few remaining gossamer threads. and you braid them tenderly, becoming the weaver of time, and hope, and possibility. you bring what is separate together in your hands, in your heart, and you know you are no longer alone, because you have started to come home to yourself.

you glow with the light of it, great mother mystery feels the pull of you again at her skirt and reaches down, lifting you up into the full spectrum of your own light of remebering. she is laughing. full shooting stars twinkle from her eyes. by now you are sure you must be crazy, grabbing hold of the gleam of your own yearning, taken a path uncharted, and being lifted to some deep remembering that only you can see, and touch and hear and feel. but you look in to those eyes filled with shooting stars and you wish with every cell to be a keeper of this magic, to carry the wisdom within unwavering, to never forget this moment of knowing.

and then you laugh. you laugh with the great vast mystery, you both shake and quiver and let tears roll down and down and down, shining streaks of release and glee. and these earthquakes and rivers dislodge great boulders of debris once placed to serve as lessons, now breaking free no longer needed. laughter becomes tears, and the tears pour like waterfalls, like rainstorms, like flooding rivers breaking banks and through it all you are held. so fiercely held.

after a great long pause. a fresh cracking dawn. a spontaneous giggle returns. a giggle for the aloneness that is not, in fact, alone at all, a giggle for the alone that is so held and loved and here and whole. you giggle into softness, the great cup of you now emptied, an uncharted universal space awaiting fresh exploration, sensational navigation, a rich living inquiry lying open and awaiting.

this can never not live within you now. this knowing, growing remembrance of mystery embodied. it is only a question of how you carry and hold wisdom. how you tend to the sacred flame that comes when you put all your pieces back into place and weave yourself together. how do you tend the temple, and honor the sacred soul space of your vessel? how do you come home, and live here fully, leading from this place, full of grace and ritual and honey love and ease?

how you do anything is how you do everything, so the only way, is everyday, practice the remebering. pick up the golden threads and weave them through your heart again. see the shooting starlight of big mama acknowledging the vast miracle of you and feel the way you are infinitely, tenderly, held. each breath is a doorway. let yourself keep coming in.