I have felt the pull of the land for as long as I can remember, although I have only been there once in this lifetime. Soon I will return to England, and my cells are awakening again with the energy of a place that feels like home.
The stones call to me, and I hear the whispers of their stories when I write. They draw me into the body of Earth and ask me to remember. They send their messengers as crows, and each day they call out to me. If I choose not to see or hear, they dive across my path so that I will not forget.
I once thought home should feel comfortable, but it often does not. Home is the pull of belonging. It is the place where you know you have been, and must return to discover yourself again. Anew. It does not always have to be physical, but sometimes it is, so it can draw you back in bodily form.
I do not know what the journey back will bring this time. I have learned to relinquish expectations, because the gifts are greater when one does. The open vessel receives what it needs, and perhaps not what the mind wants.
Yet, I must confess, I dream of hugging the spring lambs. Although I dare not try, as the ewes might not respond in kind.
To be continued…