So many stirrings.
Such depths of longing.
Yet, few words will form- or suffice.
I want to make concrete these stirrings I have- this growing hunger for more: more space, more freedom, more ease, more breathing room- but I can’t quite yet.
It comes like a leaky faucet- in drips and drabs and droplets: the prayers, quotes, songs, pictures, and metaphors of others. Ones for now, I’ll gladly borrow:
They whisper my unformed words – silent soliloquies.
It’s a tune I recognize from a pit of knowing- the woman who longs to emerge and stay:
Who wants more love, less judgement.
More being, less doing.
More get to’s, less have to’s.
More listening, less talking.
More living, less striving.
… In both my external world and my internal.
In these four weeks of silence, I’ve rediscovered a best friend- the voice I once knew and followed with passion…. my soul.
I hear her again. And her voice is so sweet.
We’re starting at last to honour our own discomfort, to think that maybe we weren’t crazy after all, chafing for years under the oppressive weight of our cultural nonsense.
Millions of us now reach out for our lost, buried souls, and once we begin the search, we’re bound to find it. – Illuminata by Marianne Williamson
…. like an old familiar friend or a cozy sweater; a timeless love song, set to a moody ballad.
At first her voice was quiet, like a soft whisper I strained to hear. But now she’s singing with octane and the innocence of an untamed child.
Curious, she is; whimsical and passionate; in love with life- her life.
She sees good and beauty everywhere; from an orange, to a butterfly, to the faces of neighbours passing by.
She knows what she wants and it’s not the things this world tells her she does.
She worships in surrender, with a kind of teenage love. Uninterested in religion, but fiercely hungry for God.
She’s inclusive of others, regardless of differences- asking questions without forming opinions first.
She shines bright- Light in poise and manner. Unconcerned with words, she sees no need to explain herself. She lets actions, speak louder.
It’s the way you live, not the way you talk, that counts. – James 3:13 (The Message)
Like a lighthouse, she feels no need to draw attention inward. She shines outward for the sake of others- a light left on for pilgrims on the journey.
She delights in her senses and revels in flavour.
She feels at home – in her body and her community.
She sees abundance in place of scarcity and trusts implicitly.
She flourishes in simplicity and blooms inside the margins- with time, in the waiting.
She’s unhurried and unrushed, trusting in the process and her pleasure.
It’s the journey she’s after- one of meaning: connection and joy; contentment and faith.
This is the legacy she wants to leave.
As I’ve listen to her voice and befriended her longings, I found new space to thrive- breathing room.
It was there all along, like an unopened present, just waiting for me to see it.
I was too busy and distracted to notice; to hurried in my tasks to care. I chose instead, the beat of expectation- my own, the world’s, what I thought the church (and God) required of me.
Now, I find myself rebelling- pushing back against the fence walls that boxed me in and stifled the lyrics of my soul.
Like my ideas of faith and God, my life is expanding- and in that expansion, I’ve found myself, again- my true self, my soul.
Like a reunion of saints:
Her innocence, my maturity. Her whimsy, my experience. Her freedom, my longing. Her joy, my suffering.
Together, we are better.
In our union, we’ve found home.