I seem to have been doing a lot of thinking and talking with certain people recently, about various aspects of 'life'. That broad subject which we label as life. Who are we? Where do we belong? Can we ever truly have free will? And is home really a place where the heart lies?
The entire subject can go either way for me. In one aspect, it almost tears me apart because I would very much like to be idealistic and live with half my head in the clouds, in my own isolated bubble where nothing can harm and only good exists. But this really isn't realistic of me. Unfortunately no such dream world exists. No matter how much we try to seperate our lives and thoughts from the 'real' world and the frightening and dangerous aspects which of course create a vulnerability, there is still no escape. Sooner or later we have to step out of our bubble, or protective blanket - whichever term we would like to refer to this as. And we must take a glimpse of reality in order for us to begin to have a sense of ourselves and to even ask the questions I raise at the beginning of this post.
Home is where the heart lies.
So 'they' say.
I have to agree with the wise beings that created this well known phrase.
But what if 'home' isn't really your home. And what if your heart hasn't really found it's place yet? Perhaps this is why I feel settled when I'm on the move. This is why I crave being busy. This is why travelling or sitting on trains and planes feels so safe for me. Because I'm in limbo, and as scary as that may be - it's also the safest place I can find. It's a place I know. Neither here nor there. Not at the place I left behind but not at the destination yet. Just happily, in my own space, in my own mind, with my own thoughts, just being. Somewhere in-between.