The desire to go home is a desire to be whole, to know where you are, to be the point of intersection of all the lines drawn through all the stars, to be the constellation-maker and the center of the world, that center called love. To awaken from sleep, to rest from awakening, to tame the animal, to let the soul go wild, to shelter in darkness and blaze with light, to cease to speak and be perfectly understood.
I used to sit there, near the top of the hill, at the edge. Located on the east coast of the South Island of New Zealand, it was a great place to sit and dream about the world ... 6,000kms away from my east coast they told me.
I'm beginning to believe that I'm finally going home ... after 8 years away. I never imagined, not even for a second, that I would ever spend longer than a year away from this landscape that owns my soul.
But I've looked around while I've been gone ... fallen for Genova, loved Istanbul, live in Flanders, wandered in Cairo and Paris and Amsterdam, Barcelona and Salamanca, Madrid too. Adored and was awed by Rome, smiled in Naples, survived Berlin. Enjoyed Ireland and England, France.
But going home ... it's as the quote says, I suspect.