My compass does not point due north. You will never know in which direction I orient myself on any given day...unless you move closer...closer.
If I shatter into a myriad of pieces, don't think of me as broken, damaged. This is my reset. My growth. My becoming more. I will reach out with my roots, and plant myself more firmly.
My heart yearns for truthful moments, for authenticity. In the world around me. In myself. You can't fool the wind. It will move through you, around you, make you shed your masks. Yes, this is what I yearn for.
My path is not straight. I cannot see around the bend. But I am more frightened of standing still than I will ever be of moving forward blindly.
When did we get so afraid of the wind, as it pulses through our hair, and moves us towards the edge? I can sway with the tree limbs, rustle with the leaves. I trust my roots. I won't blow away.
You lean into me, as the furthest tree branch reaches and leans towards the sunlight. Inching ever closer. That is where you belong.
Do you wish for the freedom of flight? So do I. In my arms you can fly on those winds. Just as I can expand and contract with you surrounding me. We will always know where home is, no matter how far we travel. We will always know where my body ends and yours begins, and we relish the feel of the perfect fit and the perfect separation.
My compass will not lead you in a straight line. But trust that it will always lead you home. Take my hand. See for yourself how I orient myself...here...now.
