Something is missing.
I’ve tripped over a few things in recent years that have pointed me in this direction. Yet I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on why it bear-hugs me the way it does.
It is the learning of things completely new – but that somehow feel just a little familiar.
As author Claire Mitchell puts it – I think it’s my Ghost Limb – the best metaphor I’ve found for the acknowledgement of a dismembered heritage, complete with its twinges and tickles.
I wasn’t actively looking for it – but it’s tinglings point to something that used to be there. And it promises a peace about home that has always been missing.
For who doesn’t want to be whole?
Tá áthas orm bualadh leat.
I am glad to meet you. (lit. there is joy on me to meet with you)