I have insomnia again. This is new for me. I have just decided to accept it and either write or read, whatever suits my mood. Luckily, I always fall asleep after engaging in one of the two activities.
When I was writing earlier, I wrote about a few of the still uncategorized amalgam of sensations, questions, thoughts, images that I have been having as I prepare for my journey. After writing about cyclamens, bread, and water I had the desire to put down a word but was afraid. I actually typed it out in a tiny font but later erased it. The word was "home."
I wasn't ready to send the word out into the public world. I still am not completely ready or sure about the intensity of my feeling around this. It hasn't been analysed into place quite yet and instead is simply there.
I have never felt that I have had a home. Not one home at least. I have made my home wherever I happen to be. Whether it is in a friend's kitchen as I study for exams, a casita in South Texas with no electricity and a compost toilet, a run down cockroach ridden dive amongst those that cannot complain, a wooden hut in the mountains of Guatemala with a board for a bed, a windowless room in the Sunset Park house of a Colombian family, a clean new room in an apartment complex with the comfort of a new very quickly close close friend, or a small two-roomed loft in the trees with a funky garden below, kindred sister landladies, and a "Save the World Impeach Bush" sign above the driveway.
Jeanette Winterson writes of Orion:
She found that the whole world could be contained in one place because that place was herself. Nothing had prepared her for this.
I believe that I have made my home inside myself, no matter where I am in time and space. But there has always been this yearning for one place to call "home."
I have felt that I have been returning home no matter where I have been. I remember feeling happy about coming "home" this summer after a trip to the "other side" of the mountains, the great Cascades.
And I felt this sense of returning "home" earlier this evening as the hopes and memories came rushing out and I could smell the pine and salty Mediterranean. Yes, I am coming home. But whether it will be the "home," I cannot say. My home has been everywhere that I have been and with all of the amazing people that have invited me into their lives and that I have hopefully impacted in some small positive way
as they have mine.