Exile or Pilgrimage?

“To die is to move on with the invisible. To die is also a joy, a joy of submitting to that which is greater than the known.”

— D.H. Lawrence

At this point in my life, I find it increasingly hard to distinguish exile from pilgrimage. The two states feel almost identical, leaving me confused as to where one ends and the other begins. Humans often live in paradox: we believe wandering might bring us revelation, and we lose ourselves all the same in fixed routines and quiet commitments. Life is strange.

Though the outward act of wandering in search may look the same, the sentiments that drive it are fundamentally different. Still, I feel oddly like a candle flickering in the dark, flickering between the two.

Books/songs/passages about death and disillusionment stirs something dark and deep within me. The key recipe to connect deeper with life is to acknowledge its limits; to cherish is to carry the fear of loss. The impulse of life is irresistible. I sense myself governed by a force deeper, greater than anything I have known — and there is no choice but to submit to this unknown, faintly destructive desire to feel/imagine the familiar je ne sais quoi in strange lands.