We’re turning back South.
The past months have been important for us. More on whys and hows later, perhaps. Let me say only that travel is broadening, and always in ways you don’t quite expect–but I suppose if you could predict what were going to happen, you might as well not go. Seeds long dormant might decide to sprout in the light of someone else’s sun. Weeds choking the mind’s further corners might quail under the gardener’s renewed ferocity, leaving room for wild and unexpected blooms.
The important thing, after you’ve gone, is to bring yourself–your new self; changing your environment can’t help but remake you in its reflection–back home.
There’s a Word, if there ever was one: Home. Words have weight, and Home is a heavy one. We’re feeling the load more and more, the longer we try to carry it with us where we do not quite belong. Belonging is an enlightenment; it lifts the burden of determining yourself, every instant. Instead of asking who am I? you find yourself saying here I am. In place of searching, you find yourself doing, and that ends up answering the questions for you.
Home is not a place, quite. It’s true that it’s where the heart is, I suppose, but that begs the question: where is my heart? That one’s not always so easy. Those who know the answer also know when they are home.
I think I’ve come a little closer to finding my heart. And my garden needs some work. Time to get some dirt under my fingernails. See you back home, soon.