With each return, I’ve been asked if I’ve met anyone and if they’ve shared any wisdom with me. It’s just me in there. That aloneness isn’t concerning, it feels right, but I’m left with a familiar curiosity if I’m missing a vital piece of experience.
Sitting in the darkness, I open myself to anyone who may want to meet. I decide not to board my ship and instead build myself a chair, a small table, and a cup of tea. I sit and I wait. I think of how lovely it would be to share a cup with someone. I wait. I run through an array of faces who could harness such wisdom, yet no one shows. I’m still waiting. I’ve always been waiting. They’re not coming. They never have. I gave up hope long ago that they would one day show and it feels foolish to sit in such an obvious fantasy. I wonder if this is just another one of those instances where many are blinded by the expectation we all come from similar beginnings. Some of us are dealt a different hand entirely. We have to seek out the same sense of community elsewhere; build it for ourselves. I’m going to do this on my own, as I’ve had to for most acts in my time.
I decide not to call my ship but to see where this darkness could lead on its own. Open to whatever and whoever may arrive entirely on its own, without my hand in the creation. I lay in the darkness for a long while and nothing comes. I settle in, accepting if that were the case I’d enjoy the stillness of this space. The time stolen to just be. Without need or needs from. Have I ever before allowed such a true content in nothingness? I lay in the darkness and can feel the shifting of soil along my skin as it settles around every crevice of my shape. Buried but not afraid. I am a new seed, in the dirt. I’m packed within in a paper-thin skin I no longer fit. Pressed tightly against the seams, I am cramped into a position I can no longer tolerate. It bursts and new roots stretch all around into the soil. I push them far and let them grow sinking deeper into the earth. My own tree, new and of my own line. I know there is growth to be had before branches will stretch into the air but for now, I plunge further into dirt. I can feel its nutrients feeding and I reach out to other streams of energy traveling from plant to plant. I am enough, as my own little seedling. I don’t need their love because I love myself more than they ever could. I found it within, deep under thick layers of cruelty and fear. I have found love. I know it as I know myself.
[There is more but sleep is calling swiftly]
