The entire universe is dependant on each piece fitting together. One piece changes and the whole picture changes.
Sometimes I wonder if our lives are predetermined. Maybe on the surface we are presented with choices, or options, but really the unfolding of each chapter is decided – we just don’t know it yet. Maybe the whole concept of having freedom, is merely an illusion. An illusion we accept wholeheartedly, because it is the only one we know. And within the confines of this fractured reality, we are consumed… just as we consume. We are free, but bound by walls we have created. And we live behind those walls, abiding by rules we set, but are dying to break.
If there’s only one thing I know for sure, it’s how little we really do know. We search for answers to reconcile, because uncertainty is rattling, but it is also truth.
So we try and focus on the certainty we have created, because the unknown might steal us in our sleep and end life as we know it. But until we face the magnitude of all we don’t know, we can’t possibly begin to grasp the truth of what we do know.
Quite simply – we are all born and we all die. Everybody loses the very thing that made them. Our bravest day will be the letting go. Words won’t do it justice, they won’t even begin to suffice. But it won’t matter then, because words will not be the language spoken on that day.
See ‘words’ we made up to gauge our experience within a framework we created. Because things feel safer that way. We like to be able to ‘explain’. We like to have answers. So we create questions we can answer, with words we came up with, so it seems we know something. And maybe we do, know something, but it ain’t as much as we think we know.
It wasn’t until I accepted that the end is inevitable, and that I know very little, that I could really begin to live my life. It wasn’t until I stopped comparing, and competing, that I could really know success and what it means to win. And it wasn’t until I gave it all away, everything I ever had, that I found I still had what mattered.
See sometimes it’s not until we leave the things we love the most, that we realise their true value. It’s intuitive. It’s the language of the soul.
So quietly one Tuesday afternoon, after eight months of travel, in eight different countries, my heart decided the ninth would be home.
A few months ago, I was sitting in a hotel room in Mandalay trying to define what ‘home’ really is.
And the further I get from it, the clearer it becomes.
My home is a sunburnt country. It is sweltering summer days soothed by cool ocean breezes. It is unique in the way the light falls, dancing between branches in the month of May – in a way I can’t quite explain. It is blistering heat, and torrential rain – all in the same day. It is the cool sea salt sitting on my skin, soaking and stirring my soul. It is endless blue winter days. It is camping trips and BBQ’s. It is sunrise and sunset with family I found. It is love. It is laughter. It is music. It is a conversation that lasts all night. It is dancing barefoot in the sand with smiles that last well into the day. It is unconditional love. It is adventure and discovery. And it is comfort.
Home is where my heart is and it is a language I know how to speak – without words.
I have accepted many things on this trip. I have discovered. I have learnt. I have seen, and experienced, and come, and gone…
And now, with little sense of reason – I know it is time to go home. It may be an ending, but more so – it is a beginning.
For I am not going back, I am going forward. I believe this is where I am meant to be. This is my story, and it is unfolding just as the universe chooses.
And it is through new eyes that I am now seeing what I have looked at, many times before.