Train Tracks

I’ve often lived near train tracks, haunted by the long whistles echoing in the night. They comfort me like the sight of my home in the distance each time I return after a trip, muscle-tired and eye-strained from driving, looking forward to the release of finally lying prone and warm in my own bed.  As the sound of the train disappears into the night headed for a new destination, I always long to be on it.  A gypsy at heart, home is always where I am or where I’m going.  Physically or mentally, I’m on the move, looking for that place I’ll never want to leave.

One of my grandfathers was a railroad man so I guess I come by this naturally, but all his sons and daughters, for the most part, spent their lives in one place.  I’ve been unable to do that, needing to see life for myself and not accept other people’s versions of it.

But what I’ve discovered is that more important than the physical journey in this life is the spiritual one because there are no limits to it.  Finally I’ve learned that what I was looking for wasn’t out there anyway.  It was inside me.  And it’s inside you.

Like buried treasure, we sometimes have to dig deep to find it, moving aside the distractions that fill our days and carving out a moment of time when we can sit silently with ourselves connecting to Spirit and finding the beauty in our deepest selves, finding in the silence that we are full and nurtured.

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