Tell me who you’ll be when you walk in through that door. Because, since you’ve crossed that threshold, you’ve journeyed over unsighted territory and unchartered minds. The soul that left here once is never to return but you, an expanded and richer you, will never change so far for this to not be called home.
Tell me what will make you smile as you set foot in what was once familiar and tell me what brought you solace from afar. Tell me what quickened your step as you left and as you retraced the final steps home. Tell me what you shed from your shoulders as you turned the first corner and lightened the load with the final task of the year.
Take a seat where suits your body most and, bit by bit, take off the travelling armour. Lay it to one side and tell me of its craftsmanship. Soften your voice but tell the story of what caused that chink and which night asked you to reinforce that section. Paint the words with ease but with truth, knowing the moment passed and that you emerged a victor for you listened to the lesson. And I will listen, letting the words and worlds fall slowly back into safe hands.
As your muscles unknot and your eyes adjust to this foreign light, tell me of the unguarded wonders, where your soul sang and your heart took flight. Tell me with no apology, no wish to take me there, but to remind yourself of where you’ve been and so I can see a glimmer of a light in a window that’s been opened for you, far from my own sight. And I will listen gladly, for my heart will soar for yours and be grateful that it still chooses to alight here for rest.
Tell me who you are now, and who plays the beat of the drum of your life’s rhythm. Tell me of your new tribe and new lands in which you are happy to roam. Tell me the language you speak, but be patient as I learn, for you are the guiding text until I find my own ear to the new world. Tell me not out of duty but from your passion, and I will listen from the same.
Tell me what your heart knows now, by your silence and your touch. I will hear the gaze and the padded footing around this place, the dropped sentence and the heavy pause. Forget not that the furniture are but trees, the walls but dense bush and the starlight never too far away. We are all connected, every little thing, and you can rest easy in that.
Before you close your eyes tonight, tell me of nothing more. Know that I understand everything changes but your core is still your core. When you wake, I will still be here for a brand new day and for tales brought around by a new sun. Because, weary wanderer, new light means new learnings, new learnings mean new doors and soon you shall be off again. When you return, the home may be different but the sense of refuge will be the same. And I shall listen once again.