It was a slow dawning,
A subtle realisation,
That somehow,
In the quietest of ways,
I had fallen in love with my life.
The inner turmoil and the eternal angst embedded into my familiar narrative had softened.
It had melted into a warm,
Anxious,
Molten gold,
Which had finally run free.
The searching had waned,
The needing had passed,
And the urgency,
The life to change,
Had evolved into some strangely apathetic nothingness.
It stopped.
I don't know if just in one day,
Or if over a lifetime of uneasiness,
My soul had reached the summit of its capacity to fight against its own grain.
Just as the embers of a fire simmer and fade over time,
So had my need for anything but that which is here.
All of a sudden,
All the letting go I thought I was doing showed its true colours.
I wasn't letting go of anything.
It was releasing itself from my clutches,
As my arms had grown too strong to hold it any more.
Grief was saying goodbye.
My life in its minutiae had become a series of small joys and wins.
Heartfelt comforts,
Long-held desires manifested.
Here,
Now,
I am home.
Nothing to change,
Nothing to do or be,
Except to rest in the juiciness of now,
In the beauty of my very existence.
Which,
By the way,
Was no accident or infliction,
As I had previously thought,
But an intentional,
Purposeful desire to experience me in this human form,
On this earthly plane,
Just this one time.
