Longing for Innocence

Johan Steyn
Nov 3 · 2 min read

The scars on your back tell a story. They echo times when life dealt you a blow that you did not expect to receive and certainly did not think you deserved. They come from the back, and you are blindsided by them, and you walk into the trap expectantly.

All scars heal in time. But the remaining marks are there for you and all others to witness that your skin has been pierced, that your blood has been spilt and that something caused you great distress and pain.

Unless you suffer from masochistic tendencies, you never walk knowingly into that kind of pain grasping what to expect. It is a deafening blow. You lose your footing, and it renders you senseless. And it makes you forget the way home.

In exile you wander, a nomad, a sojourner, a lost soul. And they that you meet on the way look on you with pity, wondering what grave sin caused God to cast you aside, to rip paradise from under your feet. Some may spit from the sidewalks, having no clue that your path was set before you, and it is the way you ought to travel.

And travel you must, albeit most days a struggle to place one foot in front of the other, a pregnant step and then another, an infertile wandering to a land that remains a mystery all along the way. It is a miscarriage of all the plans of your youth. It is a still-born tragedy and a laughable disaster.

The daily doubts of this traveler are whether his desert journey of lonely abandonment is a result of his grave sinfulness (as most people would wish him to know). Or, is it the divine plan, the sacred and orchestrated path his soul must follow?

All I can tell you, dear listener, is this: The scars on my back speaks of endless nights of sorrow. It speaks of multitudes of misplaced nights of passion. The scars scream out to me, and to you that the journey’s end is not yet come, and that step by step, this soul of lostness must continue to travel alone.

One last request, please: before I lay me down to sleep, never to see the light of day once more. I beg of Thee to grant me a Second Naïveté, a fresh face to behold your guise, a cleansed soul that, as with fire, is purged of this world and ready to transform to the one-ness with Thee that marks the end of the road.

    Johan Steyn

    Written by

    Existential Philosopher (Who am I kidding? I just want to write about my lost-ness, groundlessness and the beauty of this dark life).

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