Homelessness of the heart

The heart, fatigued and aging, is always on a journey. She starts full of such light but her innocence has been beaten out by shrewd beasts pretending to be her friends. Promises were made to her only to be broken, and the pattern repeated enough times that she hardened and no longer ventures out to the pastures. For a time sheer anger filled her every corner, as a result, she only lashed out. At other times she received kindness and a soft caress and she melted within and without. She loved back and gave herself gladly for it was worth it, but despite the good life and love, she knew someone was missing. Most everyone else called it something, but to her, it was someone. This, someone, was hard to understand or see, its presence was only felt when she took the time, but most days she was busy giving. She often finds herself homeless, even if for a short period of time, or longer. It’s the rejection that builds the lines of sadness and its the acceptance that builds the wrinkles of life, but despite it all, this someone is who she really longs for, a presence beyond her wisdom and time, someone she heard of from so many voices but there’s still a verdict out for what she really thinks of this someone, yet, it’s the someone she longs for because only that someone understands her potential. At times, the heart rests, fully content within her existence, she wants nothing, she needs nothing, she just is. And that someone is always close by in such moments, so she rests and listens. Maybe today she’ll finally meet someone. If not, she’s still happy, even if tired. -Carmen McKnight

The bubble, or the marshmallow as Chet calls it, is getting to us all. The claustrophobia, the lack of fresh air and the stuffiness are not elements a human being was created to thrive in. This environment is digging out of me an issue still unresolved.

This struggle has been unbeknown to me until earlier this year when my heart divulged, as a result of prayers and contemplation, what’s been hidden very deep within the layers of the soal and once exposed the tear glands shed years of struggled emotions. I’ve felt homeless within my own home and heart for many years. As a result, I’ve operated out of an orphaned spirit for years. While young, I had the strength to pretend otherwise. Age brings a whole lot out of the canister.

Let me explain.

I was told, while young and growing, that the home in which I lived was not mine and I could be kicked out anytime I stepped out of line. Now please remember this, I have forgiven my father, there are some old wounds that still need healing but all in all a lot has been healed already and life is good.

When a child grows up with the notion that there is no place in this world for them a complex called the orphan’s heart sets in and with time builds strong roots. When a heart does not have a home, as I suspect most people feel that, it always stays busy searching. That’s actually good.  Searching means moving and movement is life and life-giving and one day the answer or part of the answer will reach those who search. It was the man, in its weakness that hurt us and it’s man in its strength that helps us heal. God built both of these men from the ground up, man chose, consequences followed. So what was once torn down it can be built up twice as strong.

Thanksgiving is a holiday celebrated in the heart of a home, as it should be. But some may feel like you’re intruding like you’re a foreigner like you don’t belong. But we always belong, maybe not in that home, but there is always a home for everyone.

As I’m walking my road towards growth I keep on asking myself which wolf will it win? Lie or Truth? The answer is The one I feed.  

There is nothing weird about a struggle, it simply means we’re all human beings and the growth process within has not ended yet.

Gob Bless:)

 

P.S When happy, I don’t feel the need to write blogs. It’s as if those moments of happiness are so personal writing about them would only taint and diminish their value. But hardships and trials trigger my creative juices so much that I begin a downloading process of imaginative and heartfelt moments who, by some odd impulse, I need to share. I’m sharing this with you when I’d rather keep it private. Weird.

 

 

 

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