13 August 2009
Things have been pointing in a homewardly direction as of late.
So much so that I'm writing about it again.
Strangers are asking me to explain home. As in a physical space.
An occupied space, occupied by me. When people you have never
known before are calling you out on your transience it goes beyond
coincidence. When you need something the universe conspires to
help you get it. I need a home.
I am quick to say that I am my own home. That at the end of it
all I can relax back into myself. As we all know though this is not
so true. Too much traffic inside ourselves, too many thoughts, worries
emotions. I've realized that this is an impossibility.
I can not create a home within me, as much as I would like to.
Home has to be a base from which all other points are journeyed to.
Point A, if you will. Its were we compile all of our collected physical
memories. Those of us who do that sort of thing anyway. They are
extensions of ourselves in the way we choose them, organize and
utilize them. What colour paint, what sort of lighting fixture, what
sort of bulb in the lighting fixture to better enhance the paint.
It all comes from inside really. From that part I was typing about
earlier that we cannot live in. We bring it out of ourselves so that
we can indeed live in it.
I had a notion that home meant being stuck down rather than
anchored. That by constantly moving forward the collection of
experiences would amount to more that of something I could get
by being a tourist. The realization that I am living in a way that
prevents me from getting what I want is stunning. That is to say
I want a boyfriend for more than six minutes for fear that I will have
to leave soon for the next brighter location. A house I don't
have to move out of. A pet. An immersion in a collective of
individuals, which I suppose is a community.
To begin, I need to find a location that suits me.
Where is that though?