Song of the wanderer

There seems to be a stirring, something murmuring around me. I cannot see it, but know it is there.

My heart pounds so loud, I can feel the motion in my throat. I breathe so hard it hurts. What is it? What is out there?

The undeniable reality of my existence has finally caught up to me. I am here. I have value. My isms are exactly as they should be. I walk around on the earth with the fervor of purpose and am driven to do so. In time. In time, I should say, as I don’t want to go before the Lord. I want to be in His will, in His time, in His atmosphere.

I breathe again. My chest echoes the pain of the deep landscape of my innermost parts. I am isolated, yet comforted; I am uncertain, yet sure. I am chastised, yet delight in it; I am misunderstood, yet authentic. My mind wanders to the place of unquestionable confidence that I am a wanderer.

I spoke of this once before. The mind blowing quote that reshaped the scenery of my life. “Not all who wander are lost.” I am not lost as I wander. I am not looking for answers or a place to rest my head; a place to settle or work. I wander, because that is the path that has been set out for me. I struggle with the notion that this is my life. I once dreamed of buying a house in the country with a barn and veranda and a white picket fence that my kids and grandkids grew up in. However, the truth of my life has been altered by the greatest desire in my heart, “to live by faith.”

There it is again. The stirring. It is making me restless, uncomfortable. I hear it moving closer, with a greater definition of sound. Like a rhythm it moves.

My heart begins to pound. Loud and fierce. It starts to skip beats and move around in pattern. Soon I notice that my heart is synchronizing with the rhythm all the around me. Yet I still do not see what it is. Its moving closer and I can just make out the words:

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

 

The words, written with such beauty and craftsmanship, floating across the page in timeless wonder, J.R.R. Tolkien. It is my language, the written word, left hanging in the air for interpretation and inspiration.

The song is sung on my heart and I harmonize to the tune as the notes fly through the air.

 

The road to home is long

It cannot be measured in miles

Signs do not tell the way

You hear the directions in a song

Marked by the pain and the trials

A new vision comes today

The path had been there all along

Covered by many large ash piles

As we step in the array

Of all the things that went wrong

A process that proved to be vital

When heart wants to obey

And so we continue on

Even though it will take a while

 

My heart beating to the same drum. I push on. Knowing that there is an end.

I walk, enjoying the ever changing landscape around me, taking in the sites like a tourist visiting for just a while. Knowing that soon I will be home.