ORION
For as long as I can remember, the word Orion has moved through me like a tide. When I hear it spoken, when I see those stars stretched across the night, a homesickness rises — not sharp, but deep, like a quiet ache that knows no cure.
It is not simply a constellation. It is not just light scattered in the dark. Orion feels like a place I have known, or a presence I have walked beside. The name itself stirs something older than memory, something carried in my bones.
There is a melancholy to it — but also a tenderness. As though Orion is whispering back to me, reminding me of an origin I cannot fully recall, yet cannot forget. A belonging that is not bound to earth, but to something vaster, more ancient, more whole.
To me, Orion is not a hunter but a threshold. A door that opens inward, into the remembrance that we are more than flesh and breath, more than the days we count and the hours we lose. Orion is the pull of the infinite, calling me home.
And so I let myself feel the yearning. For in the ache itself is the truth: what I long for is not gone. It waits, just beyond the veil of stars, as close as my own heart.
Orion is not out there. Orion is here. Orion is the echo of belonging.
Nigel Lott sanctuary-teaandzen.org
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