Time is passing like a solar eclipse...

I feel as if I have been piling things into my arms for the last twenty years, holding it all, managing it all, doing it all, being it all and suddenly I am looking at the pile, realizing how much of it doesn't belong to me, and hungering to let it drop, to lay it all down, to walk away. Because I'm scared that eventually, the load becomes unbearable and I will be driven into the ground by a weight that I have opened my arms to accept.

Perhaps his hunger to belong is the echo and reverberation of his invisible heritage. He is from somewhere else, where he was known, embraced and sheltered. Something in him knows, perhaps remembers, that eternal belonging liberates longing into its surest and most potent creativity. This is why his longing is often wiser than his conventional sense of appropriateness, safety and truth. His longing desires to take him towards the absolute realisation of all the possibilities that sleep in the clay of his heart; it knows his eternal potential, and it will not rest until it is awakened.