It’s that feeling in the belly of the heart which pulls and twists and contorts towards a light in the distance.
The light is a guidance system, a GPS borne of the stars, a tug at the tides which wash upon the shore of my spirit. If I turn my head to that light, hand shading my eyes, I will always catch a glint of a celestial signal. The signal is almost never wrong, as long as I come to it with an open mind, and ears tuned to the sound of authenticity. My mind easily fools me, but the light never does. It’s too strong. It charges at me with a mouth full of truth caught between its jagged teeth.
When I was last writing for this blog, this Message in a Bottle whatchamacallit, a light had started to pull me towards other projects, towards other English garden-style patches of wild growth. It was exciting and yet leaving the blog left me feeling uncertain of what was to come. In doing so, I found myself expanding and breathing deeply of different air. I found new connections, new places of exploration, and new soft spots to land. I also found barbed wired beneath my fingernails, dirt on my boots and sweat on the sleeves of my shirt. There was a shift in the landscape.
But the light, the Universe, has a funny way of doing business. It comes at you with a Don Corleone-type offer you can’t refuse. Leave the gun, take the cannoli. “What you resist, persists,” Dr. Jung once stated. And while I was very content to walk away from this site, my thoughts (and my keyboard) often lingered back to Message in a Bottle. I cloaked them in nostalgia and thought often of the people who made this such a special place. I’d never considered returning, but looking back now, there have always been signs—too many to list here, but if the Creator really does work through others, then He needs to be paying out some overtime to a few folks. Stat.
Returning to the fold is not a light decision (nor was the decision to leave in the first place) but I feel like a weight is off. I am excited about being here. It feels like coming back to a childhood home, where one remembers the creaking of the floors in certain spots, or how the basement walls feel like when it’s raining outside. I also know that things have changed out here in the blogosphere. I have changed. If there is any certainty in this world, it’s that it is uncertain. In the time that I have been away, I have had the pleasure of:
- Starting a podcast, Buzzkill, which I will continue to do (I have added a Buzzkill page here where you can check it out)
- Creating another blog at Buzzkill, which I will now retire.
- Writing a book (in mid-editing stage, but it is done!) – which I will talk about in a later post, when the time is appropriate.
I celebrated 5 years of sobriety on May 4th. I am grateful to have found recovery and living a life on a spiritual plane, anchored by my Higher Power and the support of so many. I am blessed to be where I am these days, and while I sometimes lose sight of that, caught up in the minutiae of life and the occasional dips into unspiritual thinking, I know that I am precisely where I need to be. And starting today, that includes being here. With you.
So please—take a look around. I will be making a few changes here and there, but what you see is what you get. The grandiose part of me wanted to re-launch with a splashy and sassy new site, complete with fireworks and ninja clowns on flaming unicycles. But that’s not what this place is about, nor has it ever been about flash. It’s about connections. It’s about sharing. It’s about having a safe space to unwind. So, while you snoop about, help yourself to some biscotti (and cannoli) found in the far corner, near the weathered ottoman and recliner. A pot of coffee sits nearby. Sugar is in the pantry if you need. Feel free to make yourself at home. I know I will be.
The light shining through the window lets me know that this is home.