What a strange concept to understand for a sensitive person such as myself: wanderings are part of letting go. I have found through years of what I deemed “escapism” is actually good for my soul. It’s not proper for every soul, but it resonates with me in furthering my ability to be wholly and profoundly intimate with another. To continue to give in ways that I’m capable of taps me out so much that I often feel as though I’m at the bottom of a deep dark well and the only way out is to be hoisted by an unknown presence. This Higher Spirit feels so overwhelming that my balance becomes restored, and all of the worry and doubts give way to faith and swaggering belief. My soul goes through a million miles worth of restarts. My perceptive changes, my growth instills deep in my body, and I have to bounce between recovery of everything that means everything, and nothing that means everything. It’s a silly concept, but it makes sense to my brain and heart.
After recently publishing my second novel, one in which took every fiber of my core to complete, got rejected about 22 times, the back and forth with the publisher and editor, and the need to read it over and over again until I digested my own fantasy fiction, the lines became blurred. Was I living this, or was this part of some soul karmic past? What exactly is happening and did I have some kind of foreshadowing? Either way, my curiosity always gets the best of me – the most profound question being “now what?”
I dumped many words onto pages and pages for an entire year, and even as I did so, my significant partnership was undergoing its own transformation, so I had to juggle and shift, and balance and participate, and scream and cry, and love and be joyous, and exercise and meditate, and do yoga and continue to have passion for everything and anything I love. This has been my world of late, and now my soul needs to wander for a bit. It needs to rediscover society and living and laughter. I need to experience new growth, new challenges, new places, new people, new everything. I’m a late bloomer. I’ve known that about myself since I was in high school. It creates so much wonder in me that I don’t know if I’ll ever grow up, and what does that mean anyway? There are oodles of definitions regarding the growing up process, but I’m talking about living a life that is continually in motion in the heart and soul, a purposeful and thoughtful life, a life so full that it is busting at the seams with intelligent conversations, music and melodies, and people with stories. I love to listen to stories. I love to read stories and absorb what the author is conveying on every level. Because I was so caught up in my own story for so long, I haven’t delved into some juicy reading in a long time. I’m about due.
So, where exactly is home? My home is in my heart. My home is the harmony of different energies that come together and inspire and nourish. My home is quite possibly a place, but it’s also the willingness to be part of all that is. My home is happiest in nature and her blessings. My home is in the simplistic ways of being and participating in daily health and wellness. Home to me are emotional connections and spiritual tribes that gather and support and are trustworthy and truthful. I abhor lack of dignity and grace. I would rather excuse myself from any drama that continues to play out, for the mere sake of protecting my heart. My own safety and security lies within me, not in the face or soul of another. This is all home to me. Whether it’s complete, or going through altered states, or giving off signals and auras of goodness, wandering home is why I am here. I am in this to love myself and others beyond my own arenas of comfort.
I now know.
About the Author
Gerry Ellen Avery is a creative writer, author, and wellness consultant. Her work is featured in elephant journal, Be You Media Group, and Light Workers World. She authored her first novel Ripple Effects in March 2012, and her recent book A Big Piece of Driftwood was published on May 1, 2014. She currently resides in Austin, Texas.
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