lost and found

or... found.. and... lost?..and... found?

14 months of uncertainty, of being a stranger in my own land slowly passed and gave way to an identity dreamed of, glimpsed in snippets through cosy lit windows on winter backstreet nights.

"I'm here! I'm home!"

All at once.

A settled niche, a life taking shape, seen in permanence.

"This is it!"

But no, settled permanence is an illusion. We are all in transit. Once the illusion is glimpsed the world shifts and lets out the light, forcing you to search once more.

From my grasped identity I flew across deserts and seas to a land foreign and near all at once. In a twisted culture I sang, I woke, I wandered the day, slowly drifting away from my self, from my vision of permanence.

"A week?"

Not long, but all it took for the dislocation to grasp at my ankles and wrists.

"A week?" and then "Ding, woosh, fly, ding, screech, hello" and I'm back.

My land once again feels foreign, but not so much this time. I can see my place, feel the ripples that my presence made before I left. Turning, walking, aimlessly restless I hunt for the door back into where I was. Into myself and my life.

I slide into downy softness: "no!" I sit on vinyl chairs at my cafe our cafe: "no!" I lay on my polished floors: "no! I'm at home here, there, in all those places, none more than with you. "but no!" That dislocation isn't out of site, I'm still in transit, still in restless motion, unless..... unless?

This motion's not new. I was already home. There was no door because I never left. I'm still here, the dance continues but I now can see it. Take my part in it. The lights, the music are within and without. Now my mind can rest as my body and soul carry me forward.