not all who wander are lost

Not all who wander are lost.

When I walk into a forest, I feel like I'm slowly shaking off a whole hive of bees. After an hour, the buzzing quiets a bit.

I can feel my thoughts in my own head.

After two hours, they go away completely.

I can hear whispers in the rafters of my mind.

A while after that, if I lean into the quiet and keep listening...I hear a small and familiar voice.

Oh, hey.

I know that kid.

It took me a while to remember her face.

It's been decades since I've seen her in the mirror.

But after some time in the quiet of my thoughts, we start to see one another again.

Listen to and understand one another, even.

I realize how and why she made all those crazy decisions. The ones that brought us deeper into the fires we were trying so desperately to escape.

The more I explore these caverns within, the more grace I discover for myself. It's a gnarly, bruised up mess in there. 

Being a soul is no easy task.

But it shouldn't have to be this hard, either.

Should it?

Seems to me this world is full of hurting, busy strangers just bumping into one another and screaming ouch and sorry over and over and over.

We don't really want to do things this way, but we don't know any other way, so we keep stumbling forward, like zombie humans, lost in society's current.

So busy we can't even care for our own hurting and so hurt that we can't seem to care, anymore.

It's all so sad and overwhelming to me, thinking about the state of humanity.

So I retreat to a place where it isn't so scary.

Where there isn't as much...humanity.

Just the few lonely wanderers here and there, who like me, might be a little bit lost.

But at least they're still looking for something.

Something beautiful and meaningful and kind.

Maybe I'm an overly sensitive soul for feeling the things that I do. Maybe that's part of the madness that comes when you've been bitten in the midst of a rat race.

But it's not the pain of being vulnerable that scares me.

It's a lack of feeling, going numb, losing the voice inside...

That's what kills us.

In the stillness and rain, my gentle heart often breaks from the weight of this world...

But at least I can still hear her crying.

At least I am still here, alive.

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Dear readers,

Writing is my livelihood, and it means the world to me that you’re here. I will always keep my writing paywall free, because I don’t feel like there should be a barrier for receiving encouragement. But for those who choose the paid support option, thank you for keeping my lights on.

Not just in my little house, but inside my heart, as well.

Love,

Mary Katherine