Leaving Home

For months I thought about being home in my previous lifestyle and enjoying the life before of every comfort I can imagine. I’ve been seeing clouds that remind me of fog and I feel like I’m being dragged away. I even saw the Statue of Liberty in the clouds in a wash of San Francisco Giants’ Orange. I walk around in our tiny house; my sister of ten comes up to me and says, “es major que no te vayas,” it’s better that you don’t go. Chances have it that I probably won’t see her, or any of these people again, or for a long time. It is so much harder leaving here, than leaving before, from your old lifestyle. At least before you knew you were coming back, but that’s not the picture now. At least before you knew you would see your friends again, but that’s not the picture now. We don’t know when we’ll see each other again, or when we’ll see this country. This is home and I told myself that we wouldn’t leave this home for a long, long, time. I have never felt so loved, so cared for, so accepted. Parting is such sweet sorrow that I must say good night till it be morrow. So much the sorrow more that morrow will not be morrow. We must all say goodbye. We must all accept that we are leaving and following our own paths, they’re splitting. It’s a part of the process. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier… In fact, I think it makes it harder. I sit on my front porch with a guitar, looking out to see a view that I’ve managed to capture in a 2 by 3 inch screen… My eyes look out to a beauty, so close to my heart, so a part of who I am now, that every time I look out, my body shakes and I am shocked into thinking that from this point on, I will now only be able to look at it on a screen… And I don’t want to look at those pictures I’ve taken and say, “I remember.” As the photos are stuffed into a book and left dusty only to be picked up again to relive those moments in my memory. The treasures of perception that will only be electrical sparks in our heads. Who are these magnificent folk that twinkle in our mind, that inspire awe? Who are these giants? The people, the places, and the memories make up this beautiful home I’ve found. I’m torn leaving. I’m torn, just as many are torn, but it’s not about dwelling on the wonderful experiences you’ve had and stopping there, stuck on the memories. It’s about taking them and trudging through with a machete in hand, cutting your path through the foliage. Cut your path with these experiences of new family, friends, love, and home in your mind, helping you form any path you want. Find your perfect path to healing your tear once your home is behind you and others await.