There comes an hour in every soul
when the wind grows quiet,
and the world that once commanded your obedience
falls silent before a whisper rising within.
For long ago,
when you were a child of unbroken wonder,
you knew the language of the heart.
You spoke without trembling,
you dreamed without permission,
you knew yourself without apology.
But the world,
with its trembling hands and frightened teachers,
told you to hush your truth,
to amputate your longing,
to bury the radiant child
beneath the rubble of their own forgotten dreams.
And so you wandered,
half-breathing,
half-lived,
carrying a seed you were taught to deny—
the incorruptible spark,
the quiet kingdom
that no doctrine can confine
and no temple can contain.
But turning within
is the great rebellion of the soul.
It is the moment the prodigal child
steps back into the house of their own heart
and finds the Father waiting
with open arms
and the Mother whispering
her ancient lullabies of belonging.
For when you turned inward,
you found the child you left behind—
the child who felt everything,
who cried without shame,
who trusted the wind,
who dreamed the sky open.
You gathered them into your arms,
and the breath of God—
the same breath that formed galaxies—
filled the hollow places
where silence once pretended to be strength.
And in that sacred reunion
you learned this truth:
That you were never meant
to be a servant of fear,
nor a keeper of dead men’s doctrines,
nor a prisoner of other people’s shadows.
You were born of love,
to return to love,
to become love.
You were born to feel deeply,
to speak boldly,
to walk tenderly,
and to live as the one
who has remembered
the song that creation sang
long before your first breath.
For the gospel written within you
is older than your wounds,
truer than your trauma,
and stronger than every voice
that tried to silence the child you were.
So return—
not to a doctrine,
not to a system,
not to a name—
but to the spark that has always known you,
the flame that has always held you,
the Love that has always been your birthright.
Return to the awe.
Return to the wonder.
Return to the tears that baptize,
the intuition that guides,
the dreams that rise
from the eternal place within.
For this is your origin:
not fallen,
not fractured,
not forgotten—
but holy,
whole,
and home.
By Keith Brown