Homecoming

In the depths of winter, snow falling, I’m tucked into my room reading poetry, minding my own business, and then, suddenly, a bright solar flare of the heart. 

A thin, strong arrow hitting the mark. The message, loud as the falling snow: pay attention.

It speaks wordlessly of empathy and connection, the interbeing of all things. Of the sadness and beauty that links us, and of the long walk home from separation.

It says, “there’s a story that you are a part of. A story that no one can tell, not even you. You just live it, one breath at a time.”

“And by the way, your individual story is not individual. It’s interwoven with all the other stories. It’s circular and without end. Spinning and weaving and energized by Love.”

The message is not an answer or solution, not a healing, but a revealing: the story unfolds of its own—no controlling, no right, no wrong.

Taking it in, I soften and open. There’s more space and a sense of homecoming. I think of you and all the things we think we are but are not. All the traumas and all the yearnings, all the “shoulds,” all the “if only’s.”

So now, in this moment at least, I can’t even say what I am. But I will take the next breath and notice that it’s still the depths of winter and the snow is still whispering down.