I stand on the edge of myself and wonder where is home?
Oh, where is the place where beauty will last?
When will I be safe? And where?
My tourist heart is wearing me out.
I am so tired of seeking for treasures that tarnish.
How much longer, Lord?
Oh, which way is home?
M luggage is heavy. It is weighing me down.
I am hungry for the holy ground of home.
Then suddenly, overpowering me with the truth,
A voice within me gentles me, and says:
There is a power in you, a truth in you
That has not yet been tapped.
You are blinded with a blindness that is deep
For you’ve not loved the pilgrim in you yet.
There is a road that runs straight through your heart.
Walk on it.
To be a pilgrim means to be on the move, slowly,
To notice your luggage becoming lighter
To be seeking for treasures that do not rust
To be comfortable with your heart’s questions
To be moving toward the holy ground of home
With empty hands and bare feet.
And yet, you cannot reach that home
Until you’ve loved the pilgrim in you.
One must be comfortable with pilgrimhood
Before one’s feet can touch the homeland.
Do you want to go home?
There’s a road that runs straight through your heart.
Walk on it.