Return to Innocence
It seems a half-life away; Norway held me in its quiet arms.
An evening opened like a worn book, and I sat above the ocean, the water breathing its slow silver rhythm as I staired across to home.
Enigma’s Return to Innocence moved through the air — a song that felt like memory singing to itself.
Joy settled beside me, gentle as a hand on the shoulder.
And then the vision: a great golden sphere, heavy with light, drifting across the expanse as though the earth had released a secret.
It glowed with a patience older than the mountains.
As it neared, something inside me stirred — that piercing sweetness the Narnia writer spoke of,
the kind of joy that isn’t quite joy, but a longing so pure it proves we were made for somewhere else.
A homesickness for a home I had never seen yet somehow remembered.
In that light, the world thinned.
For a moment I felt creation pressing close,
as if the veil had lifted just enough for me to glimpse the far country every soul aches for.
And in that stillness, I was whole —
not separate, not searching —
just quietly belonging to the place beyond this one.
