Leaving and arriving

In the past two years, I have gone into six different places in the hope of finding my home.

And from each encounter I have left, packed my bags, and continued on.

Today, as I’m once again packing my bags, I find myself wondering: How do I keep going? Why does my faith only grow stronger with each place and each person that eventually says, “No, not here”?

What comes to mind is a memory from two years ago. I posted a photo holding my heart in a tender moment, at the beginning of this journey in Latvia.

A friend commented on the picture:

“Huh. Those are stony and suffering eyes. Good luck with whatever you’re going through.”

That really hit me deeply.

At the time I was quite unaware of the coldness and hard armor I was carrying. But looking back now, I can see that the ice around my heart, which was still glowing through my eyes, needed to be broken.

“Breaking my heart open.”

I’ve never really liked that metaphor, but I can see now how much it has been my process.

Not because life has been trying to break me, but because the protection around my heart has gradually been asked to soften.

And perhaps what surprises me most is that this process has not happened alone.

With each place and each person, I have not only been meeting them.

I have been meeting another part of myself.

Different faces, different stories, different wounds, different gifts.

Again and again life has placed mirrors before me, showing me where I was still holding back from Love, from trust, from compassion, both towards others and towards myself.

Maybe this is what “love thy neighbour” has been teaching me all along.

Because in some mysterious way, every person I meet is carrying something of the same human journey that I am.

And each encounter becomes an invitation to meet myself with a little more tenderness.

In these two years I have also met people whom I hoped might be the partner I have felt coming towards me for four long years.

And with each encounter, my heart broke.

Not in the dramatic, “my life is over” kind of way. Rather, each of these men showed me with painful clarity where I was still holding on, where I was still preventing Love from entering fully.

All of them were hurt too, just like me.

And together we became perfect mirrors, reflecting and amplifying the pain we were each bringing into the shared field.

And somehow, in this moment, it all makes sense.

None of these places or people that I have had the honour to visit have been in vain.

Each has carried a gift.

Each has shown me another piece of the way back home.

And for some reason, this time, packing my things, there is joy.

There is knowing.

There is trust.

In a completely different way than before.

And what strikes here is that I’m leaving with a note saying ”You are always welcome back here, we love you.”

I am being shown the way.

In some strange and beautiful way.

Picture is ”The messenger” by Art of Maquenda ❤️