How is home? Everyone asks me that, as if I could explain, in a few words, the effects of those years of absence and the tangible reminders they bring of Time's erosion in my return. Or as if the ecstasy of coming home to where your spirit resides and grows in the love of those who matter most in the world to you, was so banal as to be expressed. I try to find words that describe how good it feels, how painful it is, and wish that you were here in my heart to experience it with me. But every joy is tinged with regret that it cannot be shared, and every pain is made sweet in its dedication to those who embody the purpose of my life and its meaning.
To all those I have come to care for so deeply in my new life beyond the sea, would that you could know, beyond what I could show, the depths of my life and self, the roots of my being. Those roots that are nourished in love and goodness, wholesomeness and earthiness, and that though you may stretch me twice around the globe, will never leave this land or this people.
And you the founders of my life and self in the land of the mountain and sea, would that you could know, beyond what I could show, the breadth of my life and self, the branches that grow outward and away, higher and wider, towards the light of humanity and awareness. Those branches, pruned and guided by the unerring hand of experience and openness, of friendship and the unifying quest for truth. Those branches that, though you may strip them bare, will blossom again, and though you tear them off, can only lead to my rebirth, if only from the barest seed.
I am unspeakably blessed, and yet cursed with having to make the choice between them, always, to favor one, while the other withers, moving between, as the race with time is set, before something snaps, and everything comes falling apart.
I come to see Siddhartha's metaphor of life as a river to be more and more accurate as time goes by, as things and people pass by, ever changing, yet stable and predictable. Thus, after two years of absence, I find my home; completely changed and yet still the same. My memories are shattered and scattered to the winds, mere relics as relevant to the present as leaves in the wind. And there is in my heart and mind a great unease at the pace with which it has all unravelled, at which the solid years of my existence, the bedrock of the secure familiar I have in this place and in my people, has worn away. The fear of death and decay, the worry of insecurity, instability, and the fragility of it all, is now sharp upon me. Not that I fear for myself, though I may sometimes. It is for those I love that I fear.
I have ever taken boundless joy in seeking out love and friendship from those who would welcome me into their hearts and lives, the wardens of my self, makers and mirrors of my soul. But with every one comes a new worry, and a burden upon my heart and an agony of shame and disappointment that I am powerless to give them all they should ever desire, to shield them from every harm, and lay the light of truth and happiness on them.
But the sharpening of this bitterness, sadness, and regret, is hardly noticeable, in the delight of renewal, and the fulfillment of connecting and reconnecting. And if there is complexity, and pain, and confusion, with regard to the people around me, with regard to their lives and their bonds with me, with each other, and with the All, then in me there is only serenity, gratefulness, and wonder when it comes to this land.
My greatest pleasure in my short time here, apart from my time with my family, has been exploring this blessed mountain range on the sea, historic refuge of the oppressed. More will come on that note, later. And I promise, next time, my entry will be much less esoteric, and will include details of all that I have spoken tonught, and also some fun (or not so fun) stories of my little adventure back in the homeland.
With that I bid you good night, be safe, and peace be upon you and yours.
