Your Soul Knows

May 27, 2016
Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey. – John O’Donohue, Anam Cara


In the past few months conversations I have had with a lot of people have come around to the subject of feeling like an outsider or an alien or a stranger in our own lives. In many ways I completely get it. So many times in my life I have felt like I did not belong somewhere; like I didn’t even speak the same language as the people who surrounded me.

But my soul knows the truth.

My soul knows the way the light hits the surface of a lake.

It knows the lyrics and the beat of certain songs before I have even heard them.

It knows the truth in certain words when they are collected together. It knows books and quotes and lyrics, and it wraps them around me like a blanket just when I need them the most.

It knows the smell of oranges and jasmine tea and onions cooking. It knows lilacs and freshly cut wood and deep, rich wine. It knows the smell of incense – especially nag champa – and candle wax and woodsmoke and dandelions and all of the most important humans in my life.

It knows the paths through the trees and the trees themselves, even if I’ve never been there before. It knows earth and leaves and dappled sunlight. It knows butterflies.

It knows a warm breeze on naked skin.

It knows that there are angels and it introduces me to them on a regular basis.

It knows some people better than I do, and always before we have actually met. If I am open to it, it gives me moments of, ‘there you are!’ – the unmistakeable resonance of a soul mate.

It knows places I have never been, and it calls me to visit them.

It knows wonder and enchantment, and when it finds them, it gives me a nudge to say, “You want more of this.”

It knows power – my power – and it waits patiently as I muddle through all of my favourite illusions of powerlessness.

It knows the way. It always has.

It knows that I am not an alien, not alone, not a weirdo, not lost, and that I do belong. But it also knows that I have lost my way. And so it tries to remind me with those whispers, “This feels good. This feels right. They feel good. Go that way. Follow me. I know the way.”

And if I let it, it reminds me that I am always home.



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