Searching For What's Already Found

The tremor in my hand, not from the hunt, but the stillness after the endless pacing. Dust motes danced in the imagined beam of a lantern I never lit, searching corners already illuminated by the quiet hum of being. The map unfolded in my mind, marked with X's for treasures I swore were buried deep, while the weight of gold warmed my very pockets, unacknowledged currency of breath and heartbeat. I chased the echo of a forgotten song, convinced its melody held the key to some grand understanding, ignoring the constant refrain humming beneath my skin, the simple rhythm of now. The questions I hurled into the vast, indifferent sky already held their answers in the way the sun slanted across the familiar window pane, in the comforting weight of silence unbroken. And then, a slow dawning, like lifting a veil I didn't know I wore. The treasure wasn't hidden, the song never lost. It was the very act of searching that blinded me to the abundance of what simply is. The profound simplicity of already being home. ©bfa052025