Packing Up

There is a certain futility in packing up and heading off on a trip. I am reminded of the saying: No matter where you go, there you are.

It is with both a certain excitement and concern that I gather my things in preparation of visiting my old stomping ground of the summer of 1976.

I am going it alone. On purpose. I need to be free from worrying about taking care of anyone else. I will be witnessing youth in their glory playing music and getting ready to leave a form of Eden that will be etched into their memories for the rest of their lives. I know those emotional departures from summer camp. There is a part of me hoping to find the music-camp-me, the one who existed before wife, before mother, before grandmother took over.

Of course, things won't be the same on this southern campus these 34 years later. So much water has gone under the bridge.

Yet, it is the Stream of Life that I am attempting to dip my toes in and find refreshment. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that I am trying to follow the ethereal sounds or fragrance of the Divine or find that deep sacred place where I get to meet the Friend.

Really, I am seeking Mystery. Can I look into that water and see a reflection that I recognise? Will my heart be able to pulse with it?

I'll let you know what I find. Perhaps there will be words for it.