This morning, I was looking for a certain something. I knew exactly what I needed and why. I sort of knew where it was. And then, I found it. The relief, the joy, the absolute grounding I felt in my body, was amazing.
Lost and Found.
I remember the Lost and Found area when I went to school. If you couldn’t find your sweater, it was in Lost and Found. The virtue I felt when I found something of value and took it there was immense. Even when I find money in a department store, on the floor, behind the coats, someone opened their purse and out it fell, even if it is a dollar, I turn it in. It does not belong to me. Even if the Lost and Found people take it home, I don’t care. It does not belong to me.
Which takes me to some thoughts I have about Voices. We have so many voices in our heads. Not all of them belong to us. The voices can be resonant and deep, full of wisdom and kindness. Or they can be harsh and relentless, a code of ethics belonging to others. The important thing for me is this: to identify and listen to what is mine. The rest may hang out and be a tribe that inhabits my brain waves. But my gleaning of wisdom needs to be excavated from my instinctual self-knowledge. This can be a challenge, especially in hard times. It can only be found in My Voice.
Not getting lost, staying found. Staying intact. Knowing the completeness that comes from the powerful voice chanting: “Yes, I know. I know what is next for me. I know what is important to me. I know who I am. I know.”
Like the object that I was seeking, that grounded me so, I seek the voice that grounds me. And I listen.
There, I find my Muse. And then, I write.
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