I keep thinking that I’m becoming something else. That I’m on a journey that has a destination.
And when I get there, things will be… different, better, brighter, freer.
I feel so close, sometimes.
And then I read things I’ve written in the past — on this blog or in my journals. And I think, “Huh, I’m still pondering pretty much the same stuff.”
Monday, February 15, 1993 (age 16)
Scars are plentiful. My scars. And they have to go away someday if I am to become who I really am. If I am to become the free, loving, crazy spirit I know I am.
I think I actually believe in God. I know there must be something else than us. Maybe we each have our own Gods, who help us see our souls. Our Gods are the good and truth in our souls. So maybe there is only one god. There are many, yet only one. And this God is not up or down, yet inside. Deep inside and all around. (Dawning comprehension.)
And here I am today, 21 years later. Maybe I’ve been me all along. Maybe there is no great becoming where I shift dramatically internally and begin to actually shine so brightly that I glow.
I know there’s no “destination.” That the whole point is the journey itself.
Clearly it’s not a straight path — perhaps a series of ever-increasing loops that build upon what we already know and learn along the way.