We need to travel far from home to realize what we have left.
We need to become so disoriented by our own maps to truly entwine with places uncharted.
We need to orbit around starless galaxies—spaces uninhabitable—to slingshot to a place habitable.
Is that the quest of the adolescent, so lamenting their own homes, distinguishing themself in their self-protective love. Expressed in the rebellion of their contracted separation. Who are so reluctant to open to the cornucopia of love taken for granted?
Is it that we need not venture to exotic, wild, and extraordinary places but to recognize they are already here and only waiting to be exposed?
Could it be that we need to follow the breadcrumbs of truth, scattered by our own lostness, to remind us to goldilock back in balance to the webs of life? And that we see how our own lives have so captured life in a trapping web, a self-imposed inhibition? How this inhibition could also be a hidden incubation?
Could it be that our truths are fermenting in the forms of ferocious conflict and challenge yet we mistake them as brokenness rather than places of opportunity? Of acting out sanctuary? That only though conflict, we can find ourselves more deeply reflected in the faces of the perceived 'other'?
Could it be that our lives are tumbling into bakeries, where breadcrumbs are becoming ever more ubiquitous yet the crumbs only fall into compost when life is most precipitous?
Can it be said that in our primordial soup, curds and whey, life's truth is baked into the insight that our intensive, burning heat and embittered hearts of rage, despair, and sorrow are just enough for us to feed back into the crumbs we all know we need? The crumbs that make every sip of soup so endearingly tasteful, as we cherish this return home.
This return home, as our very own home is only exposed and marbled when we venture far from its souped premises.
For there is something sacred in our fairy tale place, so enchanting in its canrnal unfurling, that I do hope we can remember this home. This home we have never left but so dirtied yet unrealized that this dirt to be divine.
These questions, so fabled in my own understanding, still fail to pierce into what actually transforms.
For I realize: feeling the meaning of what we have lost allows us to truly return.