Choosing Love: The Original Wound and the Long Journey Home
It is my understanding — felt more than believed — that every human life begins with a wound so universal, so quietly formative, that most of us spend our entire lives circling around it without ever naming it.
It happens in the very process of taking human birth.
In becoming some body, in entering form, in slipping into the fragile costume of a singular human identity, we experience what feels like a separation from Home — from the great field of Love that is the creative force of the universe. Whether it is metaphoric, biological, spiritual, or all of them woven together, the effect is the same:
We awaken in a world convinced that something essential has been lost.
And because Love is the very atmosphere of our true nature, something the soul cannot not breathe, we begin our lives with an unconscious mandate:
Find what was lost.
Recover what vanished.
Locate the Love that seems no longer here.
This is the human condition in its simplest form.
We cannot live without Love — not emotionally, not psychologically, not spiritually. We were made of it, formed in it, designed to move through it like fish moving through water. But by the time we are old enough to name anything, we have already absorbed a terrible misunderstanding:
Love must be found somewhere outside ourselves.
We believe Love is in the approval of others, the safety of connection, the belonging of relationship, the promise of success, the comfort of praise, the attention of the world.
We believe Love is over there — in that person, that place, that achievement, that dream.
Never here. Never us.
This is the original wound replaying itself over and over, dressed in a thousand disguises.
And here is the paradox that shapes so much of human suffering:
Because our earliest experience of separation felt painful, we are unconsciously drawn — like moths to flame — toward places of suffering in our attempts to find Love again.
We go to the darkness thinking it will lead us back to light. We enter the wound hoping it will soothe the ache. We stare into the world’s suffering looking for reflections of our own longing.
In this way, the world’s pain becomes a kind of compass — not because it guides us home, but because we have forgotten that Home was never taken from us.
And so we search.
And search.
And search.
Until one day—sometimes softly, sometimes through exhaustion, sometimes through grace—something in us remembers.
We realize that the Love we have been hunting for all our lives was never once absent.
It was not taken at birth. It was not lost in the journey. It did not flee when we became “somebody.” It has been quietly alive within us the whole time. The great shift in a human life does not happen when we find Love “out there.”
It happens when we recognize:
We are the Love we have been seeking.
We are the Home we thought we lost.
We are not separate — we never were.
From this knowing, life reorganizes itself. We stop wandering through the world begging it to fill us. We stop mistaking pain for passage. We stop giving our power to the things that can never give us what we’re longing for.
Instead, we begin to choose: choose Love in our actions, choose Love in our speech, choose Love in our presence, choose Love in each step we take.
Not as a performance. Not as a moral stance. But as a return — a remembering — of what we truly are. Every moment becomes an invitation:
Will you reach for fear, or for Love? Will you enter separation, or remembrance?
Will you forget yourself again, or come home? In the end, it is astonishingly simple:
Choose Love.
Again and again.
Until there is nothing left but Love choosing itself through you.
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