Are we all just finding our way home?

It was amazing to watch them, dozens of dark red salmon, fighting against the current of the creek, using the last of their energy to secure the next generation to be spawned.  I remember vague glimpses of having seen something similar as a child, years ago on Vancouver Island, as my Mother and I witnessed the same magnificent end to the journey of a different generation of the Chinook salmon.  I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

It was by sheer luck that we’d landed a campsite beside Swift Creek, not realizing it was the time of year that the salmon would be spawning.  The campgrounds were posted with notices asking that people keep their distance from the edge of the creek so as not to startle or scare off the creatures that were already so exhausted from their 1,300 kilometre journey from the Pacific to this place of their birth.  

As we stood watching the speed and agility of the exhausted beings, moving the stones and positioning themselves to either lay or fertilize the eggs that would ensure the continuation of their species, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the wonder of nature.  Of these fish that had lived their lives, and made their way back to their origins, do leave their own legacy of the future before the exhaustion took the last of their lives.  We watched for ages, then it was time to move on. 

As we continued our own journey west, I couldn’t help but peer deeply into every creek and river we passed along the way, wondering if we’d get another glimpse of the pilgrimage that we’d witnessed.  We reached the coast without seeing it again.   I couldn’t help but think about those fish, and wonder about our own journey.  As we make our way to Vancouver Island, the place of my own birth, I realize even though it’s been close to fifty years since I can say that I lived here, I’ve always felt at home on this island.  I’ve always felt that I was somehow coming home, each time we make the journey to the west.  

It’s left me wondering if we humans also have that homing instinct that so many other species that share this earth with us have built into their DNA.  I still wonder, and in doing so am only left with more questions and few answers. 

We all have those places that call to our spirit.  The call is different for each and every one of us, but we all hear our own.  Whether or not we choose to answer the call or not it also unique to each person, and the reason’s vary.  Some go unanswered out of fear, in the not knowing where the call may lead us should we decide to follow it.  Some go unanswered because in the busyness of everyday life, it was unheard.  The person that it was directed to was so wrapped up in the day to day challenges, that they didn’t here that call from across time and space that was directed at their own spirit asking for consideration.  Some go unanswered, because although the call is heard, the receiver refuses to listen, caught tight in the world that they’ve created for themselves, unbudging in the belief that there is a different world waiting for them out there somewhere. 

It seems that I’ve chosen to listen and follow the voice for a time.  It’s leading me back to my beginning.  To the saltwater: the sights, sounds and smells of a time that is such a vague and distant memory, that from time to time I question if it’s a memory or a dream.  Either way, I’m going to explore it and see where it leads me.  The adventure of life continues, with all of us on our own unique journey.  I look forward to seeing what we find over the next weeks of exploration.  Where is your journey taking you these days?