Perhaps some who wander are lost.

Where are you going?

In ever increasing circles to someplace I don’t know.



During the month of July here at The Inspired Story, we’re going to be chatting about this WanderFull life with some friends of mine. Today I have a guest here to tell you about where her journeys are taking her these days and what she’s learning along the way. Her poetry and imagery are beautiful and true, and I hope you enjoy her words as much as I have.


My past year has been a difficult one, and I’ve described it as a journey towards Hope.

But I find I am circling back to the same places again and again, and as I keep coming back to the same settlement both I and it have changed each time. Yes, I am still seeing it again, but doesn’t it look different? Don’t I notice things I’ve never seen before? Doesn’t it look a little less solid each time, and rather more ramshackle? Can’t I see the tumbleweed starting to blow through the streets?  And as I return, am I the same as when I’d last been there?  The places on my journey may have been familiar, but I am not who I was when I started out. As with all journeying the traveller has been changed on the journey. 

This seems to me to be a really important thing to understand – it’s not a bad journey or a wrong turning if we re-visit old places. As a traveller brings fresh eyes to places, I too need to look at the once familiar places and see them afresh, anew. Recognise that I don’t want to stay there. It’s not the place I thought it was. It’s better to leave again. And if I keep returning for a while, that’s ok. And some day I will realize that it’s a bigger circle that takes me away, and it’s a greater time between the returnings.

The language of journeying is full of certain end points. I am going to …… When I get there …….  How much further to…..? It’s a very different experience when we don’t know the destination. This is new for me. To walk without any sense of the place that I am going to. What I am discovering is that the paths are made clear as I need to know.

I have met fellow travellers who cheer me with their tales of mountains climbed and the views from the peaks. Travellers who understand the journey through the desert, the sinking sand, the longing to reach the ocean. Travellers who have seen the open fields and meadows full of wild flowers.

We eat and drink and sing and tell stories of those who have gone before us, who have fought the fights along the way, who have finished the race.  We start again on our way refreshed.

Where am I going? I don’t know, but I’m not sure that really matters anymore.


I forget.

I forget where it is that I am going

as I walk across this desert, focused on the ground I can see under my feet.

Muscles straining, one more stride, and then another

Every part of me aching from exhaustion

Mind dulled and numbed by the effort expended in staying alive

Repeating as a mantra – Keep going. Keep going.


Where have I come from?

How did I get here?

I can’t remember parts of the journey.

And the fragments I remember reflect in the hot sun;

broken shards of coloured glass

Was it beautiful where I began?

Why did I leave?

And this.

This desert.

Today it’s desert. Some days as a child

transported through a wardrobe I am in meadows lit with sunshine where Aslan plays in the daisy strewn grass.


Other days it is as night – but night without moon or stars.

Not cold, but dark.

There have been days where I stumble upon a path that leads me through unrecognizable landscapes

And when I feel, which is not always, every part of me longs to be by the sea,

but never have I woken to the sound of waves that resonates within my soul, and says all is well.

Maybe that is my destination? 

Will I know when I arrive?


Always movement.

Am I here with others?

Sometimes I think they are with me, but often I am alone.

If I don’t understand my journey or know my destination why choose to accompany me?

Or maybe I choose for it to be this way.


But this day I may escape it.

I see a way to leave this place.

I fear that it may prove to be illusion; mirage.

Will it be what I believe it to be when I reach it, or will it disappear leaving nothing to indicate that it ever existed?

That it ever pulled me towards it.

And then I will not be here any more. I will have gone there.


I have lost my bearings.

I only know that I must journey.



About the Author:

Caiobhe ( pronounced Keeva) means “Beautiful at Birth.” It is a name we can all claim. It is the name I choose to write under as I am writing to remember who I have been made to be, and I am writing to connect with others on that journey. I care about justice and living with authenticity. My blog is called ‘The Hope Diaries’ because despite difficult circumstances I believe the word Hope has found me this year, and I am daily amazed by the growing hope in my life which I want to share with anyone who wants to hear about it.  I have promised myself that I will live fully, passionately, lovingly and openly, and that I will write about that journey. 

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  1. Great to see you here at Rachel’s blog, Caiobhe! We have this wonderful family on the internet – who knew that could happen! Your words are beautiful.

  2. […] I am sharing it here, not to be read as a justification for why I seem to go backwards, but as an exercise in truth and a reminder to keep going.  I hope that it will encourage you too. This was originally posted as part of a longer piece on The Inspired Story. […]

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