Morning Song. The Labyrinth of My Life.

I awoke this morning and remembered.

I remembered where I came from.
I remembered my mother.
I remembered my life.
I remembered the people who have shaped me.
I remembered the lessons each relationship has taught me.
I remembered my sorrows.
I remembered my joys.
I remembered truths I'd buried.
I remembered moments - vividly.
I remembered friendship.
I remembered childhood.
I remembered the deathbed.

The walk of life is a labyrinth.
I'd forgotten that.

I'd forgotten that we are here to learn.
I'd forgotten that we are here to give.
I'd forgotten that each experience is a lesson.

I remembered that we are each walking our own labyrinth.

I learned the lesson of loss early in life.
I learned there is no quota.

 I am no longer young.
My life has been rich and deep and soulful and blessed.

I awoke this morning
   an elder.

I am filled with gratitude for each twist and turn of the labyrinth.
We have companions for the journey
 each who walk with us for certain period of time.

My walk.

Mother.
Survivor. Strong. Tough. Fierce.

 Father.
My core. He lives in me still.  No distance between us.
Everything I am today is because of him.

Children.
Honesty. Independence. Love. Joy. Pride.  Letting Go.

 Friends.
Old
 New
False
 True
Lifelong
 Steadfast
Near
Far

Each has been a teacher.
Some have been guides.
Others angels.
A few soul mates.

From my friends I have learned
Playfulness.
Soulfulness.
Acceptance.
Laughter.
Forgiveness.
Generosity.
Humility.


Marriage is its own labyrinth.
It begins with youthful exuberance and ripens with each turn.
Marriage is a difficult path and the greatest teacher.
Along the labyrinth of marriage we are faced with many
Challenges.
Celebrations.
Disappointments.
Expectations.
We face the mirror.
 Forced to look at ourselves.
 Naked.
Flawed.
 Vulnerable.
Cherished.
Whether we are deserving or not.
It is often said that the only truly unconditional love is that between a mother and child.
I don't believe that.
A mother's unconditional love is instinctual.
Love in marriage is unconditional by choice.

The marriage vows are the most important words one will ever utter.
For better. For worse.
For richer. For poorer.
In good times and in bad
In sickness and health.
A Vow is a promise. Renewed every day.
Marriage is commitment.

Work is necessary.
Meaningful work is a gift.

Work is an expression of self.

My work is an artistic chore.
Passion.
Joy.
Collaboration.
Misstakes.
Creativity.
Students.
Learning.
Purpose.
Salvation.

Place is where are.
It is the landscape. The vista. The horizon. The spot.
It is sacred.

My place is the beach.
Sand.
Ocean.
Constant. Surf.

Home is
Sanctuary.
Timeless.
Kitchen.
Dinner.
Conversation.
Happiness.
Hearth.
Christmas.
Warm.
Cozy.
Safe.
Comforting.
Gathering.
Celebration.
Memory.

The center of the  labyrinth.
Self.

This morning, I awoke and  remembered who I am.

This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad.
Give us this day our daily bread.
Forgive us our trespasses.
Deliver us from evil.
Surrender.
Thy will be done.

Home

My fingers touch the keys and instantly I am connected to self, to soul, to that part of my being that has remained silent for nearly a year.  I have fasted from writing, journaling, and blogging.
I used to say that I write to process what I'm feeling. It follows, then, that my abstinence from writing may also have been an escape from feeling. It therefore is not coincidental that my return to a writing  practice coincides with my return home.

As my odyssey continued for nearly three years, I became stubbornly determined to make my way back home - fiercely fighting to hold on tight to my dream - refusing to let go.
I don't know yet whether that fight will have been worth the cost of my labor.
I just know that I have been home sick for a very long time.

The other day, I was getting on to the freeway and I saw a homeless man in his makeshift campsite underneath the overpass.  He was clearly visible, isolated on a desolate island of concrete and rock, surrounded by speeding cars and exhaust fumes. I found myself wondering what it was that drew him to that particular place. He was laying on a sleeping bag. Next to him was a grocery cart filled with stuff. He was so alone and yet so public.

I felt ashamed and guilty.

I have never in my life slept under a freeway overpass.
Hardship comes in a variety of forms.
My yearning for home has been with me constantly and now that I am almost there, I am questioning what it all has meant.

 My shame and guilt swelled within me as I passed the homeless man under the freeway.  All of a sudden, I was faced with an existential crisis. All I could think of was what the philosopher and theologian,  Paul Tillich referred to as "Ground of Being."
 I began to weep.

 Has this sojourn been a spiritual exile disguised in the physical notion of home?  The mystery of our very existence dwells within the invisible walls of our human psyche.  Isn't the home for which we yearn  really our union with the Divine?

That homeless man forced me to look at something far deeper in my experience.
Home is a physical place but it is also a mental and spiritual place.
The essence of home is the "Ground of Being. "

My fast has provided an empty dwelling where my spiritual self may now take root.
At home,
I am.