The wallet is found, but the cross is still at large. I know it is near, yet I cannot see it.
I know I am surrounded by love, and yet I cannot see or understand this often enough.
Will I ever find an end to this lost-ness? It’s not as if I don’t know where I must go. Rather, it is the journey which wearies. Processing stinks. I want to be home.
Crescendo, decrescendo. Piano, forte, diminuendo. Major & minor & atonal. Tricky bursts of sforzando and fortepiano. Occasionally contabile. Endless recapitulations.
In the midst of it all, I continue to seek the Om.
For now, small accomplishments in which to take a moment of pleasure: a tidied spice drawer. The cabinet of Odd Things sifted and sorted. An ability to look into a pantry and pull together a tasty casserole without ever consulting a cookbook.
And the reassuring hugs from a man child who is trying so hard to be strong for me.