gypsy soul

frankfurt and london before home. i use this term loosely. i dont think i have really had home for some very long years now. but then they say, ‘home is where the heart is’ and i suppose this makes sense. as oversaid and down-right cheesy as it is, i take it literal. my heart beats steadily inside my skeletal structure. therefore, i am my home.

…but i know this is only partially true. i know home to me is ten thousand times too big for me to wrap my head around, or even my heart. and it is non-nuclear. i think i know a bit more about home, but i think in the next weeks i am going to learn a lot more.

so yes, i go to eastern wa to sell a silly house. i go home to boxes of old costumes, sheet music, used scripts, photos, newspaper clippings, tutus, movie projectors, books galore… in three weeks time i will move all my keepings to a 10×10 storage unit. and what of ‘home’ then?

—

it is 2am, i am tired. i sleep in airports and on couches of couchsurfing.com hosts for the next several nights. i walk the streets of cities to get lost and always found again. i write in a new blue journal with my new .5 point pen. i see things i have dreamt long of seeing. i find my way to a community that witnessed my growth. i laugh with people that know my laugh. i swim in the lake that taught me to swim. there are tears with the lord that has given me nothing but his best.

—