Not all who wander are lost. Brilliant. I've spent my life walking through endless rooms whose entrance is shrouded by a curtain of beads. I pause then pull open the curtain gently, carefully, with both hands and peak my head out of the darkness of the previous room and into the light of the space that follows. I peer around at the sight that, I do not behold, the sight that beholds me. I pass beyond the tinkling beads. They ripple in my wake. I emerge. I see all that surrounds me and feel it flowing into and out of my being. I merge with what exists. To exist is timeless. Free of time. I allow flowing energy to become as much a part of me as I am of it. Time becomes cyclical, no longer linear. Time seems to grow, breath, and pulse with action, with words, with deeds. We have arrived. Who is we? It seems we are always arriving. We... we are not separate. I cannot be without we. To define... maybe... is to separate.
Our dreams, our thoughts do not come from no where. Where is everywhere.
" All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king. "
~Tolkien
I have hope for many things. To say I believe in them, I do believe. But, hope, hope elevates them. Most of all I hope for and believe in human potential.
