There is a home you cannot see, a womb you cannot return to, but your bones and your being remember. It is the place you were thrust from, unwilling, into selfhood, into separation, and yet you carry its echo—a longing, an ache that feels like love. In moments of surrender—through love, through nature, through fleeting glimpses of union—you remember. You touch the great mystery where all separateness ceases, where you are of the world, not apart from it. These moments are not answers but invitations, reminders to approach gently, to love deeply, and to trust that we are always held, always guided, always on our way home.