the long becoming

i am learning that wonder is not escapism. it is remembrance. for so long, i believed strength meant vigilance. to survive, to recover, to care for others, to lead, to hold space, i learned how to stay useful, attentive, responsible. and those things mattered. they saved me in many ways. but lately, something softer has been calling me back. the trees. water on skin. silence that does not need to be filled. the strange holiness of being witnessed without performance. moments

i have been unraveling quietly… thread by thread… wondering if becoming holy always feels this much like breaking. some nights i sit inside myself like an abandoned chapel… asking my Creator who survives surrender? what remains when the masks fall away? and then this hymn found me. "Love divine, all Loves excelling…" not demanding… not shaming… just descending… “Breathe, O breathe thy loving Spirit into every troubled breast” and God… i have been troubled. grieving… yearning…

sometimes the body asks for what the soul has been denied for too long. quiet. warmth. stillness. less noise. the sacred ones understood this. the Buddha sat beneath the tree. Jesus walked away into the wilderness. Mohammed disappeared into the cave before revelation arrived. not to escape life. to hear it clearly again. some things have to be released before healing can enter. the constant rushing. the endless input. the need to respond immediately. the belief that exhaustio