Seeking. What calls us? When? How do we know? When we take up the thread (of Ariadne) we cannot know which/what minotaur will be in its lair, waiting to be found. All we know is that, suddenly, the tug of the string is all we can feel in our hand. What we find, ultimately, is almost always beyond what we sought. This is a magic, too. And, almost always, it pulls us further into the struggle for justice, for peace, not only for ourselves but for a loveliness, a sweetness and preciousness in others of which we may not, without encountering the Minotaur, have faced and given its true, non-misleading, due. It would seem illogical for the freest of spirits to require a container in order to thrive. But that is where we have been, as humans, for too long.
How painful to realize the teachings that mean so much to the seeker are hoarded like bread before the outstretched hands of the starving. How she must erase herself to be perceived as acceptable, only just. And of course there is no freedom to be found in imitation of anything.
What do we love, regardless? That whatever we find that is broken, we will repair. What we find dry, we will moisten. What we find unworthy of the true human soul in us, we will work to restore to the shining absolute that is hidden, for whatever disastrous reasons, underneath. ~aw