It is the feeling that wakes up with me in the morning.
It is the bitter gnaw that never quite settles.
It is the stirring that keeps my tired mind from resting at night.
It is relentless.
I search for the antidote in solitude and in conversations.
In the confines of my closet.
In the presence of many.
And it is still with me.
Prayer is the only thing that has dressed the wound of my restlessness.
I am pilgrimatical.
I am on a journey, far from my place of origin.
The sinking of roots is hard for this sojourning soul.
Surely to have another with me on this journey would be reckless.
Being is hard when stirring is biting at your heels.
And You speak to me when I am leaning.
You remind me that I am as far away from You today as I will ever be.
Each passing minute, that carries with it the hour, the day, brings me closer to You.
This restlessness has a purpose.
It is a seed planted in the marked ones.
It is the tension of holiness.
A soul that is cleaned with hands that are dirty.
It is the understanding that this world cannot hold me.
It is the certainty that You already are.
And the latter makes me all the more restless for You.
You are my I AM.
And I am finding that my silence says the most.