I see my life spread out before me, the edges of my existence reach at arms length and the width from side to side is the size of my arm span. The light reflects off the surface that captures information for me to look at in regards to where I am, where I’m going, and how I can get there. Life is the journey of a destination. I am the only driver that is authorized to manage the placement of my choices. I reach for things and I compose what I feel necessary, and I break into the darkness to find specks of light that can be used as flashlights in an awkward lack of identification. I seize things for selfishness sake, and I hold caring to be a principle of nobility. I take for my own self, and I give where there is pain to fill the void of pain. I sometimes talk with sincerity and I try to follow the parts of my heart that are consistently true.

Where do I go from here? I look and I take in the scenery, I see roads and rivers and I can tell where north is the opposite of south, but the question of location isn’t complete until I know where to place myself. Even standing on level and dry ground is merely the source of safety, but I want more than safety. I long for freedom and completion. The act of knowing isn’t knowing until the hour of exact rightness. I want to be found where there is no doubt, and where there isn’t a single longing for what isn’t already in my hand.

People can be my compass, the wind can be my compass, God is my compass, the chemicals in my brain are my compass, and images try to be my compass, but my soul is starting not to listen to either of their calls. Remembering where I came from isn’t hard, it’s the right of passage toward a complete past that drives me forward. I look at the sky and its viewing pleasure is not only desirable, but it’s beginning to call to me and beckon me to leave. The escape of leaving is only as feasible as the dream that holds distant in my heart.

Two dreams share the location of my heart, but on the map it’s only possible to be in one place at one time. I can’t ask for more than the present, and within the present moment of hope and justice, I see more than I am able to grasp and take in. I’m hurting to know and I’m hurting not to know. Why must I choose the destination of my soul? Can’t my soul take the wheel and steer me closer to the desired path. Surprise me of where we end up. Don’t confuse me with turns and pit stops. Give me the moment of clarity so that I can stare at the open road on a plan of return.

Have I found myself completely to be enabled to find my place? I’ll reach for more, and I’ll get more. I’ll strive for everything and I end up getting everything. That was the hope, but the reality is starting to prove empty.