And so he came to himself. Having run out of options, leaked all his energy, exhausted his plan Bs. He came to himself. Saw his fears and his foibles and his frustrations. Faced them and unmasked them. Spent himself until there was nothing much left. And so here, surrounded by filth and half-digested food, rats and mouldy scraps, crouching in the cigarette butts of life, he opened his eyes. Took that long walk back to himself. Stopped hiding. Tore down the glossy hoardings of his own making, and let his true nature seep through. Nothing to lose. His rose-tinted glasses lying in jagged shards at his feet. A costly, messy place to be. Yet somewhere in the shadows of his soul he could hear the strains of a new music. Freedom. And the sound of crashing as he threw off the constraints of popularity, peer pressure and pleasing others. And so he came to himself. Recognised the place and named it. Then he stood up and made another journey. Offering himself, rather than the shiny, glossy of idea of who he thought he could be. Trudging, each step heavy with integrity. Back to that risky unpopular place. That house frowned upon by many of his contemporaries. Joked about by the comedians, dismissed by the cynics and shunned by the experts. But nothing of that mattered now. When you’ve found reality who wants the sham anymore? When priceless treasure is within reach why settle for less? And so he came to himself and he headed down that long road to freedom. Didn’t know it yet, but he was headed for the place where welcome was embedded in every particle. Forgiveness in the clean air. Life. Beautifully rampant, extravagantly genuine, wildly colourful. Cup-running over kind of life. That very thing he’d gone hunting high and low for, waiting for him, at the end of his journey. Returning to that familiar place and knowing it for the first time.
Inspired by the writings of Adrian Plass.