the desert sun is unforgiving
a man who wanders the land is not merely a wanderer—he is an observer of the greatest architectural feat
god is a farmer, and if he abandons man, man becomes a desert
man is also a farmer and if he leaves god, he turns himself into a desert as well
- st. augustine
that’s where the void softens
not in having
but in being
in remembering
that nothing outside of you
can complete
what was already whole
that’s the return
not to something new
but to something sacred
you almost forgot
there is no arrival
only shedding
and even that
is violent in its quiet
but the thing beneath the thing
the ache that never bought in
that’s where the altar is
and you don’t pray there
you just stay
the ache isn’t asking
it’s reminding
and underneath all that reminding
a structure:
formless
ancient
yours
no material
no language
just the raw architecture of self
unpolished
when was the last time you sat still long enough
to ask the question
how did I get here?
it’s a rabbit hole i’ve been falling into
more often than not
you’re telling me
not only did i survive the odds
but so did thousands before me?
every choice
every hesitation
every canon event
every rejection
every change of heart
freak accidents
blessings
wars
borders drawn and redrawn
each one
threading its way through time
to land me here
writing you this thought?
that kind of alignment
it sits heavy on the mind
and now
what do you do
with that kind of knowing?
that’s the question
and somehow
it’s also the answer
to everything
mother, stay healthy
father, stay strong
family, stay together
for there is so much i have to show you
a long way from home - a long way to go