Fulfillment. Is a rather longwinded and loaded word. Especially when one considers how erratic we become at the thought and insistence that we're meant to feel it at some point in our lives. Today, I feel like any semblance of fulfillment I once might have known in my lifetime, escapes me. The weight upon my shoulders of needing so desperately to achieve this loaded emotion is a constant reminder of a path wrongly taken. Or perhaps I've lost the plot.
For someone who fervently advocated the Path of Life in a nonchalant go-with-the-flow character, perhaps I have only my self to blame. For a preacher of inner awakenings and self-accomplished peacefulness, what is this foreign land that I have arrived at?
Lost. Needing to find myself. Needing to be Found! Success of the material is not my problem. Success of the inner child is the yearning. I feel like a little child lost at the fair. Too many unknown people scurrying around confuse me. I cannot recognise what I need to. Familiarity is gone. No. I mean to say, I cannot recognise myself any longer. Change is inevitable. I am happy with a memory of familiarity. It comforts me. Good, warm memories comfort me. Sad ones do, too. They remind me of the ever presence of Love. And all its surprises. And its insistence that we feel, experience and be. But I have not learnt the lesson of acceptance. Accepting that change is possible and necessary around me, just as it occurs within me. Albeit at differing degrees. And in different directions; on different scales of measure in the realm of subjective paradigms of success.
And I ramble. Needing focus. Amid the chaos of success. When onlookers find reason to envy. I look out from behind my barricade of expectations. My chains.
Wanting to be free.
Free from me.
Free to be me.
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