{"id":184,"date":"2012-11-10T13:38:05","date_gmt":"2012-11-10T13:38:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/3371a290-61ea-4386-8272-9d210deff227"},"modified":"2012-11-10T13:38:05","modified_gmt":"2012-11-10T13:38:05","slug":"going-home-the-story-of-a-soul","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/?p=184","title":{"rendered":"Going Home, the Story of a Soul"},"content":{"rendered":"

Going Home, the Story of a Soul<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

soul (n.1)<\/a> <\/dt>\n
O.E. sawol<\/span> “spiritual and emotional part of a person, animate existence,”…of uncertain origin. Sometimes said to mean originally “coming from or belonging to the sea.” (Online Etymology Dictionary)<\/dd>\n
<\/dd>\n<\/p>\n

Once there
\nwas a country that existed on the edges of things.  It was a beautiful country of waving wheat
\nfields, rolling, verdant hills, meadows of wild flowers, and lakes and rivers
\nso clear and refreshing that one sip from them would set you reeling into conscious
\nimmortal life.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I say it
\nexisted on the edges of things because it did. 
\nIf you looked out of the corner of your eyes it was there, flashing its
\nheavenly light, but when you looked at it full on it seemed to vanish into thin
\nair.  Sometimes you could catch a glimpse
\nof it in the eyes of children or senior citizens.  There were those too, who, after years of
\nhard work, could see it shining over their shoulders while looking in the
\nmirror.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

It had a
\nfragrance that was famous throughout history for being the sweetest, most
\nintoxicating fragrance that ever wafted through the atmosphere.  It was coveted; people tried to bottle it,
\nsmoke it, manufacture it, imitate it, or to make matters simpler in their own
\nminds, deny it was there.  Denying it seemed
\nto make them feel better if they couldn\u2019t smell it for whatever reason. But it
\nwas there and it rose from behind the sweetest memories.  Sometimes one could sense it on the wind and
\nswoon into an ecstasy of heart-wrenching nostalgia and not understand why.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

One of the strangest
\nthings about this country is that everyone from every other country in the
\nworld came from there originally.  Everyone lived there for years and years long
\nago, and loved it.  But for reasons still
\nunexplained, they became restless, wanted adventure, wanted to go out, as we
\nsometimes want to go out today, to a carnival, circus, or to see a movie, to learn
\nsomething new, or to simply go looking for cheap thrills and trinkets at a
\nlocal flea market.  Whatever the reasons
\npeople would simply get the urge to go and they would go.  Of course, they needed the blessing of the
\nking and queen before they could leave, but the royal couple, named Amore and
\nSophia, never refused such requests, even though they knew the explorer would
\nnot return for many, many years.  They
\ncertainly never returned the same.  And
\nonce they left, the journey was so arduous and wrought with dangers and
\npleasures that their memories of their beloved homeland were erased in the same
\nway a drunkards would be after a night of drinking.  Amore and Sophie knew these things would
\nhappen, yet they always left their people free to make the choice for
\nthemselves.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

One day, an adolescent
\ncitizen of that country asked to venture into the so-called, real world.  Her name was Sawol.  She was beautiful, and infinitely deep with
\nknowledge and wisdom, curiosity, love, and passion, all couched in a rich desire
\nto express herself, and to know herself. 
\nShe was like a living body of water, she moved with such fluidity,
\ngrace, and mystery.  The king and queen
\nloved her dearly, so much so that they wanted to be sure she felt free to go,
\nand when they gave their blessing, she was off on her journey in the blink of
\nan eye.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

She traveled
\nmany winding roads, many dark and unclear passageways, she navigated many
\nilluminated roads\u2014roads lit with candles of vigils of those who had gone
\nbefore.  After many days which seemed
\nlike many years she came to an enchanted country she had never seen
\nbefore.  It was gorgeous, almost an exact
\ncopy of her homeland, expect that it held a touch of grayness and stain that
\nshe couldn\u2019t quite explain.  Still, it
\nwas beautiful and filled with adventures. 
\nSo much so that she quickly fell in love with it and decided to stay.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

The locals
\nwere a rowdy, full-hearted bunch, easy to love, yet hard to understand.  She loved their language and customs.  They danced, sang, and played.  They worked hard and defended their land with
\ntheir own blood.  They created dramas and
\ncomedies, tragedies and operas out of the fabric of their daily lives, and
\nSawol got so swept up into the action that, by and by, she forgot who she was
\nand where she came from. <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Before she
\nknew it she met a young sailor names Animus and together they were married and
\nraised a family, and life was good.  It
\nwas busy–filled with heart aches and joys, victories and defeats.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

But every now
\nand then Sawol would catch little glimpses of her real home.  She would see it shimmering just behind the
\nbeauty of the flowers or within the heart of a timeless piece of music.  She would smell the fragrance of her homeland
\nsome days in the spring and her heart would suddenly ache for something she
\ncouldn\u2019t quite remember.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

As years
\nwent by she began to see that no matter what she did everything in this country
\nwas touched with some strange, undefinable failure.  Nothing lasted, things eventually got old,
\nturned gray, faded to black, dissolved into ashes and finely sifted dust.  She began to get restless, as if somewhere
\ninside her a magnet was trembling under a great weight unable to run to its
\nmate.  She loved the country she lived
\nin.  She loved her family and her
\ncommunity, and yet when she looked closely at her life something was
\nmissing.  It was like looking at a
\nmajestic painting with a corner left untouched. 
\nSomething just wasn\u2019t right and she didn\u2019t know what it was.  A vague depression began to shroud her
\nheart.  She would explore different
\navenues to get rid of her pain, she would try new careers, cultivate old
\ntalents and gifts, try to give herself away to others, and yet, the depression
\nremained.  She sank into dark times,
\ndrinking and drugging, trying to numb out the depression.  She tried natural cures and unnatural cures
\nand while some worked for a time, she would always come back to her senses and
\nfeel strangely alone, strangely out of place, even in the arms of her husband.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

One day after
\nliving for years in quiet desperation, she wandered far from her village and
\ngrew very weary and hungry.  She hungered
\nfor something in a way she had never felt. 
\nAfter many days she stumbled into a tumble-down tavern and sat
\ndown.  As her eyes grew accustomed to the
\ndim, smoky light, she heard a sound that cut her to the quick\u2014it was a voice
\nwith an accent that she suddenly remembered. 
\nShe looked towards the speaker of the voice and when she did he was
\nlooking at her, more like into her, and Sawol rose, fell at his feet, and
\nwept.  For he had come from her homeland,
\nlike a wave from the sea.  She suddenly
\nremembered everything, her true origins, her true home, and wanted desperately
\nto go back.  The man lovingly lifted her,
\nwhispered the names of her favorite regions of her motherland and some of the
\nnames of her favorite friends into her ear. 
\nHe even told her the names of her mother and father, and she wept when
\nshe realized she had forgotten them during her stay in this foreign
\ncountry.  And when she asked him his name
\nand he told her, his name became a silken, golden thread that wove through everything
\nshe did or said from that moment onward.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He told her
\nto return to her village, finish out her obligations with love and devotion,
\nbut to keep his name ever on her lips and ever in her heart and mind, to keep
\nthe names of her homeland and friends foremost in her thoughts and to repeat
\nthem over and over in her mind.  He told
\nher to repeat these names and to imagine he was with her and that she was there
\nin those regions walking with him. He told her to live like the princess that
\nshe was, noble and worthy of all abundance. 
\nHe told her he would wait for her on the shore, that he would be there
\ncarrying a light and a song that she would recognize and could follow.  He would be, as it were, a living, breathing,
\nmusical lighthouse.  But Sawol wouldn\u2019t
\nleave him.  She clung to his feet.  He assured her however that he would come
\nback for her when the time was right.  And
\nto reassure her that he was telling the truth, he kissed her forehead and when
\nhe did, an image of himself appeared just behind her eyes.  He told her he would be there inside as well,
\nand that he would guide her back to him from there.  But she must go back to her husband and
\nfamily, she must learn to love the world she chose to live in and yet be not of
\nit.  She must learn to remember her true
\norigins even while living away.  He told
\nher when she was able to do this she would realize her beloved country was
\ninside her the whole time, and that when he knew it was the right time, he
\nwould reel her inside herself and into his arms where she would remain forever.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Sawol
\nfinally rose and, wanting to please her beloved comrade, she returned to her
\nvillage and followed his suggestions as best she could, treasuring the knowledge
\nthat she would be going to her true home soon. 
\nShe left elated, lifted up, touched by heaven.  She felt as though she had merged with a wave
\nof pure compassion and bliss.  He had promised
\nto take her home, and she believed him.  She
\nbelieved him so strongly that somehow, in some strange and wonderful way, she
\nknew she was already there. <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Upon
\nreturning to her village she took up her householder life with grace and an
\nease in her being.  Now she knew why she
\nwas never quite happy in this new land, lovely though it was.  She finally understood why no matter what she
\ndid or tried to do she could never be totally or completely happy.  This world wasn\u2019t designed for that.  It was designed for change, like an
\nelaborate, extravagant play.  It was
\ndesigned to illicit different feelings and reactions.  No feeling ever remained, and yet now she
\nknew why.  This country was truly entrancing
\nand enchanting and it made one forget life outside the theatre.  But she knew now that she would be returning
\nhome in due time.  So she endeavored to
\nsimply enjoy the play, to love its characters and scenery but not so much that
\nshe forgot her beloved comrade.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

Besides none
\nof the characters ever seemed to remain on stage for very long, and rarely did they
\ndo what she wanted them to do anyway. 
\nSome of her favorites would be suddenly written out of the script and it
\nwould outrage her.  Other times the
\nactors and actresses would step into the seats and hand out treasures and Sawol
\nwould laugh and stuff her pockets.  Once
\nback at home she would brood over losing them or having them stolen.  Same with the characters she loved.  She had grown to believe she actually
\npossessed them and could make them do her bidding, but that was all part of the
\nplay.  Somewhere, behind the scenes, her
\nbeloved king and queen were orchestrating the whole show.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

By and by
\nshe began making preparations for her journey home.  She remembered the names her beloved comrade
\nhad told her.  She remembered his name
\nand the names of her parents and friends and her heart swelled with joy and longing.  She kept their names inside her mind like pieces
\nof the sweetest candy in her mouth.  The
\nmore she remembered those names, the more she saw her beloved comrade in her
\nmind\u2019s eye, the more she ached to be with him and to go home, and strangely the
\nmore she truly loved her family, for she began to see her husband, children,
\nand neighbors like herself\u2014explorers looking for home.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The longing in
\nher heart for her true home was terrible, but she bore it with dignity knowing that
\nthis was a choice she had made and that she must finish out what she had
\nbegun.  Some days when she was
\ncontemplating her comrade\u2019s image she would hear music and see fantastic
\nlights.  And the sound would pull her,
\ndraw her, and she would feel as if she were drifting on a current of bliss, and
\nthen something or someone would draw her back and she would have to get up and
\ntend to some business, but the fragrance of that sound and light lingered in
\nher heart and mind.  And even though she
\nwould be temporarily crushed at the parting she knew that the parting was an
\nillusion, for that music and light were the true realities in her life.  They were the changeless, the eternal, and
\nsomehow they were wrapped in her beloved comrades image, they radiated from his
\neyes and voice, and she loved him in ways like no other, and she no longer felt
\nashamed to sing his praises even though those around her sometimes felt
\nthreatened and jealous by the intensity of her devotion.  Sawol was home and she was going home, and
\nthis great paradoxical wonder kept her steady and strong the rest of her days.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Going Home, the Story of a Soul soul (n.1)  O.E. sawol “spiritual and emotional part of a person, animate existence,”…of uncertain origin. Sometimes said to mean originally “coming from or belonging to the sea.” (Online Etymology Dictionary) Once there was a country that existed on the edges of things.  It was a beautiful country of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[16],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/184"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=184"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/184\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=184"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=184"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=184"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}