WAYFARING STRANGER

In the prism of your light

hidden hues

navigate this night.

You go where you hesitate to go. Where you will enter and endure like the wing of an angel torn from the body so that nothing, nothing but wind can direct its flight. 

You will want to resist the gift, do everything so you can depart, and so you must, for there is still time—time to be with this disembodied part. After all hope has been tried and the windmill kicked, the journey of this feathered thing will have pierced into you through to the light. 

Something within us questions. Yet, we long for a sense of arrival that might resolve our thinking and substitute the journey. It is a journey where a kind of friction of uncertainty meets our days and where moving forward often returns us to questioning, from where the question came. 

What are we really negotiating with: reality itself or the interpretations we have layered upon it?

What captures attention can also be deception and the temptation to stick a fork in things and declare them done is to assume we have translated their meanings. But in the depths, beyond the reality set seemingly solid before us, beyond the idea of self, each one of us will one day turn to face, lies a courage known only to the stars.

Tread carefully and remember: beliefs perish, but truth survives when it is encountered, reorienting being.

The difficulty is that it unsettles and disenchants. It asks of us humility, accountability and brutal honesty. It is a path we are all on. We resist, fear it, try to outrun it and yet when we truly encounter it, we yield. Not moving from truth, but allowing it to move us.

The soul knows: there are no bones in the heart's chamber, no boundary it cannot cross. It recognises love from loss, home from the departure, resilience in living and presence through absence. Its movement is beyond and yet intimately felt, not by possession, but letting go.  

Weary, not the soul.

Let me lay down my head

the wind blows.

Clarity in the action — and so we go

for what we long for

must have known

a love sent 

to meet its own.