Some people spend their whole lives searching for their spirit, that element that drives them, that keeps them alive. It’s the thing that fills their dreams at night and replenishes their souls.
Some folks go to church to find theirs, some spend years upon years filtering through books looking for theirs and some find that theirs exist within the service to others and spend their lives helping them.
I have seen mine; I have felt its warm embrace and the very breath of it spill through me, replenishing my blood, filling my body and the essence of my character.
I have held it in my calloused hands; let it run through my fingers and over my toes.
I have tasted it on hot August nights under a full moon.
I have heard its songs; I’ve closed my eyes and listened to its harmony for hours on end.
When I am distressed, or when I feel like my days have grown darker and my spirit seems far away, I know I don’t haven’t far to go to go to find it.
It’s in the cool grass in the park just before sundown, I can feel it under my naked feet; it’s carried by the wind to play with the needles in the towering pines along the boulevard. It floats through the dark waters along the creek and it even rides upon the back of the crow as he sores through the air.
My spirit exists in all that is nature, the wind, the sun, the moss covered dirt and even the rain as it washes down over me in the spring and among the brisk January snowflakes as they fill my hair.
I can find it outside my window. It’ll even fly with me when I cruise old country roads on my bike.
And sometimes it leads me on to new and wonderful places, calling me from within my dreams, begging me to come play hide and seek in the mountains and far off wonderful places.
I never really lost my spirit, never had to look very far, but sometimes I forget to glance in the right direction. As we grow older from time to time we lose sight of it and have to remember that it’s always within reach, we just have to let it in.