(Insert beautiful backside joke here.)
Poking at old bookmarks is what brought me back here. Today I looked at my old WordPress feed. I just scrolled through the headlines, didn't read any of the entries. People are still doing pretty much the same things they've been doing, or so it appears. There's the usual rituals, shrines, devotions and general ramblings. Was I tempted to go back? Not really. Those little snippets looked like something seen from a rear view mirror.
It was a pretty, ornate box that smelled of incense, and I remember fighting against it often. I studied it, wanted to understand it, tried it out for awhile, but I hated the box. It never really fit.
All that stuff behind the box was a different story. I still want to go home. I felt that pull so strongly, and still do. I thought that being around other people and talking about it could bring me closer. It was never close enough. I was always hungry for more. The more we talked, the hungrier I became. Talk doesn't get the door open. I'm not sure what does. This prison sentence is for life.
But honestly, my life isn't bad at all. I've made a home here too, and I'm not in any hurry to leave it. I wish I could have it both ways.
"Love yourself with the same fierceness that you loved him," Djehuty told me.
Just say no to those unsatisfying addictions with their embedded toxins. Love yourself enough to know that you won't crumble into dust without them.