Posted by: scintillatingspeck | May 9, 2016

Insider. (Outsider, continued.)

About three weeks ago I wrote about feeling like an Outsider.

I wrote then that my explorations into this topic were to be continued, and here I am, continuing.  The only thing is, I’m finding it mighty hard these days to hold onto the outsider-ness.  It’s as if I approached the topic, only to have it melt away into nothingness.

How can I see myself as an outsider when we’re all insiders?  I’m an insider.  You’re an insider.  We aren’t separate.  I realize that sometimes I’m able to access this truth, and other times it’s far more difficult.  I’m willing to accept that my realizations will wax and wane, and that the waxing and waning has little to do with enduring truth.  I am such a speck.  I love my speckishness, and my absolute, immutable connection to All That Is.

The other day a stranger said to me (right here in this same café where I’m sitting now, Haymarket, in Northampton, Mass.), “You look familiar.  Have we met?”  Then she realized I just reminded her of someone else she knew and she didn’t actually know me.  I said, “It’s okay.  We’re all related, anyway.”  Her face lit up.  I can’t stop thinking of that light.  It was a perfect moment of mutual recognition.  I live for such moments.

We are, literally, all related.  Every living thing on Earth is related.  I’m related to every sycamore tree.  You’re related to every hummingbird.  We’re related to every otter that has ever lived.  We’re related to geniuses and despots and the one perfect gardenia that will never be forgotten.

This seems connected, somehow, to the seeming conundrum of having a sense of place.  It’s something I’ve longed for, something I assumed might always be elusive to me, as the child of immigrants and diasporas.  Where is my community?  Which land claims me as its own?  Could I ever consider myself native to a place?

I realized, it doesn’t matter.  I’m native to Earth.  I am absolutely, definitely, 100% beyond the shadow of a doubt, native to Earth.  This is where I belong.  I’m on the inside of this magnificent biosphere, wandering around on the thin crust of brilliance.  It doesn’t matter who rejects me, or how I think of myself, or any anxieties that crop up—there is nothing I or anyone else could possibly do to make me not belong to Earth.

When I let myself love and be loved, it’s impossible to feel like an outsider for long.  What is this sheer magic of heart alignment?  this singing joy, this steady gaze, this blazing thrill?  Do I belong in these arms?  Is this what I was born to do, to love profound and wide, in the uncharted oceanic depths?




  1. […] (Continued, here.) […]

  2. Ooh, lovey-dovey, hold that thought! (recognizing that thoughts are as transient as everything else…)

  3. The waxing and waning occur with me too. I sometimes feel a bit alienated, but not often. And it’s usually coming from my own self-lies when it happens. Maybe I will be able to stop doing that, the negative self-lying.
    “Heimat” is a term I stumbled across a couple of years ago. At the time for me, it applied to what global corporatization has done to local communities and family farms, every city beginning to look the same. I’m grateful the grip of corporatization hasn’t been so strong out here. This community is showing resistance to it.

    • I wonder why we lie to ourselves. Maybe we don’t know any better if we’ve been lied to, and we’ve all been lied to, by this culture.

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