Sometimes I imagine that the universe is an endless sea of energy, and I exist merely to float in its great abyss, catching stars and somersaulting into dreams. When I wake up from these sweet fantasies, the world sometimes reveals a truth that isn’t so comforting. I see wounds and grief in places that should be growing love and silence. Maybe that’s life’s great mystery, the lesson she tries to teach us as we fumble and flourish; that the delicate balance between struggling and thriving means we must love pain and bliss equally.
I’m not sure if we can ever fully accept some of the suffering we face. Maybe one day loss will make more sense to me. But I guess it’s the understanding that living means embracing all of it: hurt, wonder, struggle, euphoria, nostalgia, stillness, chaos. They make us.
In our seeking of meaning and connection and love, I think there is tremendous value in getting lost. There is nothing more beautiful in this messy and curious world than aimless wandering. I’ve seen it; this impenetrable inner power that comes from paving your own crooked and winding path out of the darkness and into the light. The duality of the universe is mystifying, hurtful at times and uplifting at others, but damn if it doesn’t create the most honest and wonderful souls.