For The Dawn

I Have Fled Long Enough

I hope this letter finds you well, friend. In truth - I’m grateful it found you at all. For when the noise of life turns up, the call to stillness tends to quiet. That you’re here means that you’re listening. And that’s no small thing.

Perhaps you’re like me. Perhaps you listen because you’ve learned to. Because when you allow yourself to still, some small voice does speak.

That voice - that knowing that calls from beyond understanding. I don’t know how it’s been for you, but for me it has not always been a welcome caller at the door.

Fleeing, we feel the fang of years. We turn away. We deal. We cope. We downcast our eyes, dreams asleep beneath feet that tread lightly so as not to disturb.

I don’t mind telling you, friend, that I spent years in the depths. I nearly drowned. Six hundred pounds. Video game addiction. Split bedrooms and half a marriage. I hit bottom.

I heard it then. The small voice. I listened and the years lost their hold. From deep waters some strong ship bore me up. Old stories cast away and hope broke loose from the horizon.

I have fled long enough. I am here for the dawn. Not to categorize, not to analyze. I write to render conscious that which would render me unconscious.

I am here. And I await you on the path.