This is a piece from what is turning out to be the manuscript for a new book I am putting together, which I have chosen to call “Coming Home to Me.” The writing in it does not follow a script or a particular order but simply self-reflections on the deep emotions I am going through in what now has dawned on me to be a new process of transformation. After all, we are not meant to remain stagnant.
COMING HOME TO ME
These days, I find myself adrift in an unfamiliar sea, struggling to grasp the elusive threads of my own existence. It is as though I am a stranger to my own body, a wanderer in a landscape that should be intimately familiar yet feels foreign and cold. The questions that once seemed to dance at the edge of my consciousness have become heavy and opaque, dragging me into an abyss of disorientation. It is not my declining health that pulls me into this brooding fog – though it lingers like a shadow – but rather a deeper, more haunting fear.
I fear the possibility of not having lived or truly embraced the essence of being alive. This fear is not about death, the grave, or what lies beyond. It is a more subtle terror that whispers of a half-lived life, dreams unrealized and passions untapped. My reasons for this fear are not driven by a desire to etch my name into the books of history nor to be remembered or liked by many. No, my reasons are more selfish, but they parallel those grander ambitions. My rebellion is against the sentence that was imposed upon my soul long ago by forces that sought to define and confine me through their monstrous acts. How could I fear death when they killed my soul and mind many times over – like Lazarus, for some reason I am yet to understand, life kept bringing me back to life …Gypsy soul, rebellious, free-spirited, haunted.
Blood rushes through my veins that refused to le me go. Blood that seems to scream “GET UP….sacred blood cannot be enslaved. We are with you, the forgotten, the ones haunted for daring to be, the ones who danced with life since birth, and the monsters of this world could not bear its light and were terrified of its beautiful dark wisdom – but here you are. This needs to stop…this abuse, this unnecessary punishment, needs to end if we are to claim ourselves human. Rise, this world doesn’t need more niceties; it needs your rebellion”.
Through this rebellion, I wish to defy the grim expectations set before me, to offer a defiant “fuck you” to the cruelty and indifference of the world. I seek to confront their congenial ugliness with a genuine smile, even when my heart is a storm of unspoken sorrows. A part of me longs to piece together the fragmented remnants of who I am – Humpty Dumpty – struggling to reconstruct myself amidst the chaos of existence. Is it possible to reassemble the shattered self? Who can say? All I know is that I continue striving to live in the hope of finding wholeness once more.
Yet, the mundane tasks of daily life weigh heavily upon me, their triviality becoming an overwhelming burden. I feel a profound loneliness that seeps into my very bones. I am not inclined to reach out to others to listen to their tales, for I am preoccupied with deciphering the storm that rages within me. I am engaged in a more intimate struggle….to hear my heart’s quiet, persistent voice amid the tempest which is now brewing inside. I am striving to return home to that sacred space where my heart resides.
In this journey, I seek not just to understand but to feel—to reconnect with the essence of my being. I am trying to come back to myself, to reclaim the fragments of my soul and weave them into a tapestry of living. Despite my loved ones surrounding me, it is a solitary journey, but I undertake it with the hope that, in the end, I might find myself once more. I hope to build the home I have longed for all along….all within me.
*Photo Credit: Belfiore.
Eiros 