Where are we but here?
Is home anything other than where the heart falls to sleep at night?
Timeless questions of mankind. I'm in my room ruminating over a glass of water. It's quite refreshing.
The land of new beginnings, sunrises, lakes, lovers, crab-cakes, city lights, squirrels, and cheese - is indeed a fresh land to the wandering eye. A new home. But in this poetic resonation of consciousness, how can one be so certain?
The claim is quite flawed if you take a step (or two) back. You see that home is an implication of the mind. An idea. A story told.
The Truth = our youth that moves in a groove to the tune of our roots. Our soul is our song. Our home is the earth under our feet. Here we are the creator and the created. Sewn into existence by the divine woven fabric of time to take the shape as we do, and do with it what we will.
The idea of home is an important one to ponder, revisit, and be grateful for - but one that does not hinge on a location in space.
Home is much grander than that.