Found

When I was trying to find myself

my Highest Self, that is

- Her, with a capital H.

I made sure no stone was left unturned.

I sought high and low:

from the salt-bordered Dead Sea

to the Swedish archipelago.

I began my search for Her

on the winding streets of holy Jerusalem

and in the arms of a hazel-eyed stranger in Tel Aviv.

I continued, treading the narrow canyons,

those walled by sandstone cliffs,

opening themselves to the lost city of Petra.

I scoured the red sands of the desert,

swaying in the back of a Jeep

on the dunes of Wadi Rum.

I searched for Her at l’Orangerie

between impressionist strokes in Monet’s garden

and at the bottom of a bottle of Bordeaux.

I was convinced she’d be in Greece

but Athena said she hadn’t seen Her

when we met at the Parthenon.

No trace of Her still, in whitewashed Oia

with its blue-domed churches and steep precipices

plunging deep into the Caldera.

I wandered from Rome to Dubrovnik

and back to Rome again.

Something about all roads leading there…

I looked for Her in Firenze,

at the very spot on the Ponte Vecchio,

where I had once found her years before.

But she was long gone,

not even a hint of Her shadow

cast under the Tuscan sun.

I couldn’t hear Her laugh in Sicily

while sipping on Aperol

and wandering the sun-soaked temples of Agrigento.

I even searched the heavens, literally

jumped out of a plane to catch a glimpse of Her

on my way down, free-falling, the Swiss alps.

I thought I saw Her in Mexico,

sitting on the beach of Oaxaca,

watching turtles hatch and make their way to the sea.

And then once again briefly

in beautiful San Miguel de Allende,

listening to the Parroquia bells under a tree.

But alas

it had been merely an illusion,

a weary traveler’s mirage.

After an entire year of seeking

I had undoubtedly failed

in my hero’s quest.

Yet I had seen dusk befall

every corner of the Mediterranean

and laughed and sung and danced.

No one could take those away,

I had a suitcase full of stories

and a pocket full of sand.

I returned home from my travels,

blessed with my memories,

accepting defeat as I turned the key.

The door opened slowly,

gradually revealing the sight

I had been yearning to see.

There she was.

Patiently waiting for me,

incandescent in all Her glory,

serenely sitting on the couch.

She looked up as I walked in and

patted the empty seat beside her.

“I hear you have been looking for me.”

She smiled sweetly,

“This is your home and

you are mine.

Where else did you think I’d be?”