Getting Back

 

There is a place I am trying to find my way back to even though its location sits somewhere within a dense mental fog.  I’m positive I have been there before because I can describe it almost completely.

I remember a thin whisper of blue smoke rising from a burning incense, but not even a hint of fragrance could I describe. There was soft, mellow jazz coming from someone’s long ago collection, and the room was neither dark nor well lit.  Various items about the place seemed as if they were illuminated, though I’m not sure how.

There was both a comfortableness and familiarity with the lighting.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  When there, I felt welcomed and like it was where I should be. The thing is, I have no recollection of leaving or of how I left.  I was just suddenly no longer there.

I know, finding my way back is going to take me to other places first, for this doesn’t come off as a destination, but rather as someplace you simply end up.  It is a feeling, without doors or windows, yet a quite sturdy reality.

If I do find my way back, I'll look for you.  I have this river of thoughts that has eroding banks, so there's no guarantee, but I will keep trying.