Lost and Found

When you're a writer, inspiration often comes in many ways. For one of my friends, she finds her inspiration through her faith in the church. Another finds it in her alphabits at breakfast. One woman I know meditates and "om's" her cat's belly, which is definitely an odd sight...but one worth mentioning, after all...it is our quirks that make us interesting. I have always found inspiration in coming home. Poet Phil Levine remarked once that his adult life was rather boring so he lived in the memories of his mind to write his poetry. I have always felt that my blood was tainted, indeed I had a gypsy soul, never content to sit still or stay in one place for long. Yet, there was a part of me that held a deep reverence for roots, for the act of coming home again, for traditions. I suppose I felt that if I could be a part of them yet maintain my distance, I would have the proverbial cake and be able to eat it too (in this case, coconut for easter). This morning while I sat in the catholic church of my youth with my daughter by my side, I tested the waters of prayer, unsure if I would sink or swim. Without really thinking I allowed the thoughts to flow over my soul...take care of my family, make sure my daughter stays healthy and happy, let me find the strength I need for the coming months, I prayed for those less fortunate than myself, for those who were alone on easter Sunday, for those who were lost, and then I prayed for those who are found...and this one surprised me the most. But then I realized...sometimes it's easier being lost. And all these years I have spent so much of my time trying to "find" the right path, attempting to "find" my place in life...but I think I'll stay lost a little while longer.