Presence

I love my home. Don't get me wrong. I am starting though to feel a little feint. Suddenly my own bed seems remarkably cosy and I find myself clinging to familiarities, like a barnacle. Someone asked me recently why I was doing this. It seemed suddenly like an incredibly personal question and while I answered from my truth, I felt my insides turn to jello. I seem to remember that I love to travel and I seem to remember I have always been curious about the part of the world to which I am going. I am noticing that my preparations for departure are akin to that of a zen master, it requires great focus and concentration. I realize I cannot get bogged down by the reactions of others, plans have been made, tickets bought, and now I must shoot out of the womb-like quiver of my beloved home and straight as an arrow make my mark. There is a an interior soul reconstruction that is formulating, a moving geographic meditation, as I respond to my soul that has coaxed and called me to this. As Wayne Dyer says, in a hundred years, none of us will be here, a startling but obvious thought, and one that renders perspective. Each day is a present and I go to open my presents with presence.