This thought has been peaking and searching around in my skull for quite some time. There’s something about writing, that makes those ideas makes sense. When I’ve taken too many months off from typing out my thoughts, I thank myself for the space to explain out my most recent discovery.

If you guys haven’t noticed, nostalgia is a word that comes up an incredible amount when I’m explaining my unexplainable depths. It feels like a remembrance, a deep remembrance for who I am in this world and in my own fictional one. It feels like a yearning for something, something that might make me just a little bit happier. It feels like I’m craving some state that I’m not convince I’ve ever actually experienced. It feels like I know something that I may be hiding from myself. I find myself getting lost in this nostalgia not only for the things that have left, but for the things that have yet to arrive. Its an overwhelming word for me. These thoughts around the word always bewildered me. “How is it that with so little years I can feel so connected to a past I’ve never had?”

Nostalgia comes from the Greek word: νόστος, meaning homecoming and I’m pretty sure there was a literal “click” in my awareness when I discovered this. I realized, this craving that I’ve only ever been able to explain through a simple word, “nostalgic,” is a craving for the home within myself. Although the home I reside in is filled with trinkets from my past, and although I have a deep craving to be back in big mountains, and although I wish for nights long past, nostalgia isn’t referring to anything in my reality. It’s referring to the intimacy that exists when I create a healthy relationship to myself. It’s referring to that place of home that exists just under the breath, exists somewhere between your inhalation and your exhalation, exists somewhere where with nothing but peace for the manner in which your world is shown to you.

I’m nostalgic for the place in which I was derived, the place in which our brains fail to contemplate, the place in which yoga gives us a sense of connectivity to, the place in which we are free from earthly sufferings. I’m nostalgic for a deep sense of peace that only comes with space. I’m nostalgic for whatever it was that was inexistence before my bones and what will be inexistence long after.  I’m nostalgic for that overwhelming connectivity that we came from.

Is this god I’m talking about? Maybe. Is this the super natural I’m talking about? Yes. Is this complete and utter happiness I’m talking about? Absolutely. Is this that unexplainable part of yourself I’m talking about? Fuck yes.

I’m nostalgic for us all, for our inner homes, for our own joy, for our own peace. I’m nostalgic because I feel something beyond the cyclical rising & setting of the sun, beyond the waxing & the waning, beyond the words & whispers & whimpers, beyond the yoga mats & the meditations, beyond the suffering & the sadness & the sorrow.  Because I feel that home may not be what we have convinced ourselves it is.

And that makes me feel overwhelmingly free.