It was a long drive. Home.
It was a long trip. Home.
It was a long visit. Home.
hurled and haunted
much to sift through. Home.
I am. Home.
And a bit cryptic exhausted, peeling back layers of revelation and old news of ancient salvation and. Newness.
And flipping through pages of poetry much more than me. And bigger than my words. And. Able to convey what I feel right now:
Love After Love
by Derek Walcott
The time will come
When, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other’s welcome,
And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you
All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
This poem is so lovely. It points to that process of unfolding and growing into authenticity. We get there through the love, the “love after love” of those who went before, who still are and who will one day be. And I can say I’m grateful for every one of those loves. The ones who’re “gone” and the ones who’ve relentlessly and couragously embraced me.
Meanwhile, I look forward to haunting the wealth of worlds connected to this blog. It’s good to be home!