Exiles are people displaced. They lack a permanent address. There is an aspect where they don’t belong. They are left out. They are not mainstream. Neither is their thinking. Their life is unconventional by necessity.
Exiles are diverse. But exiles share something wonderful. Something powerful. Something beautiful. They share their journey. Fellow travelers have community. Their differences are minimized because they recognize their need for each other.
Life can be like living in exile. Like a homesick journey. Groups, clubs, denominations, races, zip codes, creeds, and politics, are all surrogate communities. They index us; telling us who we are. They lie and tell us life is better if they govern us.
But the authentic know that thriving is independent of such limitations. There is an army of people who apprehend something the mass followers miss through their process. These are people that touch something more in life. Something Devine. The people who truly thrive.
Exiles thrive in ambiguity. Uncertainty is not unsettling. Questions and doubt come from integrity, not rebellion. The good Samaritan was an exile.
I love my exile. I love my life. I love my fellow journeymen. I love the solidarity I share with the fringe. It’s who I am.