I’m on a train at it’s still light at the first stop. It’s a beginning of a journey I’ve been on for a long time already. We stay at the first station until dark – the train daring my new found light and inspiration to get off in Hajigabul, and stay stunted and frozen like the village itself. We start moving again, the light still sitting in the seat next to me.
Are we going backwards? No. It is just an illusion in the darkness outside the train. I begin this journey of discovery on a strange ride across Azerbaijan. Other trains go by backwards, making me blink, dizzy.
There was a time, on a train, at night, in Azerbaijan. I was sick and didn’t know it, but felt it. I was living in a country far from home.
I felt the greatness of being.
The greatness of my being.
I can still feel that greatness. The feeling of flying backwards on the train. The feeling of time-traveling as we passed villages so old and dark that they were in the past. The dizzy feeling of passing lights and smooth turns. The feeling that I was put here, on this earth, with a purpose.
There was another time, in the day, on my way to the mailbox. The lightning struck, and the ordinary moment of my life is permanently scarred in my memory.
There are more moments like this. Moments where the lightning strikes, leaves a scar, a reminder of the greatness I can have. The greatness I can be.
I am in the mundane moments of my life, trying to find the sublime.
I make choices every day to ignore the scars from these life giving moments.
I am here. I resolve to feel those scars, live in those scars, give thanks for those scars. Be those scars. Those fingerprints of inspiration left in my mind. The light in the seat next to mine. The memories of promise.