It was impossible for me to know why I did it at the time I did it.
I had my reasons. I laid them out logically on the table and argued my point. But whatever I said at the time wasn’t the real reason.
What I learned in the time after, through lightning flashes of insight and achingly slow unfurling fronds, was this: I am far more than I thought I was when I was there.
I could not have known this at the time. It was the awakening that showed me, the awakening that happened only because I ripped myself out of sleep.
You might think that my leaving – people, places, or things – was personal. You might think it was because two sides of me were fighting a bloody battle. But that’s not true. I am simply following a path that unfolds with each step. I’m comfortable with my progress, despite the ways it might unsettle you.
The reason you don’t recognize me now is because you’re looking through a pinhole into a universe. The one you thought you knew – the one lying in a field of chickweed and dandelions, or the one who sang a hungry bear to sleep – is still there, but I’m more than that now.
I invite you to gaze at me. I invite you to wonder who I really am. I welcome your destabilization, your uncertainty, your awakening.
May it give you permission to no longer recognize yourself.
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