How could I possibly explain what I don’t even understand myself. All my life I feel as if I have been searching –not searching — scouring the planet for this thing I can’t even name. I don’t know what it is, what it looks like, where it is, or really anything about it at all. All I know is that the rusty gears behind my rib cage are constantly turning, exhausting themselves and me after a mythical, invisible goose. Do you know what that is like? Can you even begin to imagine how it feels to be missing a part of you–a part of your very spirit–and to be oblivious to what it is or where you last put it. I am seeking answers to questions I don’t know how to formulate, chasing the end of a circle, or trying to see out past the horizon where the line between sea and sky becomes indistinguishable. And I feel heavy and burdened like someone has filled my soul with stones while I was sleeping. Everything is a task, everything is challenging and hard. My highs are too high and my lows are too low, my emotions seem to be polar and extreme. I feel everything too much or too little.
And then I step outside, go walking into the woods and I can see everything. My world is balanced. This mental clarity is like a drug and I find myself oh, so addicted. Nature and the wild fill my soul with what ever is missing, and I cannot see it. I can only feel it and trust in it that some part of me is slowly becoming whole again.