i’ve been itching for change, as i’ve written about ad nauseum.
still, change is upon me and i can’t look at it. like strangers in a waiting room, we stare at the walls opposite us, not making eyes. to meet eyes would have to equal acknowledgement.
a friend mentioned today needing to hit the restart button.
i could resonate. except i hit that button months ago, and it feels like it’s not taking. as he noted, maybe it already has and i just haven’t noticed.
then came another discussion/disagreement with my roommate about out living situation. we moved into our own place in the fall and it’s been turbulent since day one. we’ve been friends, close friends, for a long time, but there are some injuries that go too deep, some misunderstandings that can’t be overcome. day after day, week after week, our wounds have been bumping up and rubbing against each other’s, scratching off the thinly-formed scabs.
now, here we stand, at an impass. unable to go any further on this fitful journey, deciding to part ways. we’re hitting the restart buttons, and i’m moving again for the upteenth time in the last ten years.
i would be more okay with the restart button if it didn’t make me a vagabond wanderer, always in search of my home.
in the fall, during a considerably stressful time, i biked to Beech Grove, to the monastery. i couldn’t say why, but something in my heart pulled me to the prayer labyrinth in their yard. the prayer labyrinth is a giant maze-like thing that winds around and around, until you reach the middle. as you make your way in, the goal is to pray for something that you should be letting go off, a search-me type prayer. you should have something in mind when you reach the middle, and then stay there–kneeling, standing, laying down–until you’re able to let go. as you make your way out, you pray for the courage to walk forward without picking back up that thing you’ve laid down.
as i made my way in on that rainy, gray morning, i couldn’t think of anything i needed to let go off. i grew more and more frustrated as i got closer to the middle with no revelations. finally, i got to the middle and found myself in child’s pose, my forehead to the ground, and i let my mind be still. an image of my friend’s couch came to mind, a place where i feel like i can be myself. where i can cry or laugh or just sleep. everything within me wanted to be on that couch. then i heard it: a still voice whisper,
“i’ll be your couch.” i burst into tears at the comforting words of my Father.
“i’ll be your home,” he continued.
i need that memory now, when “home” is up for grabs and i’m feeling displaced. the promise that i’ll always have a couch to find comfort in, and arms that welcome me back.