Going Home - bruce silverman

[Lawrence Robinson]

Going Home

There we were, amidst the magnificent snowcapped mountains that
slide into the rivers and oceans, like, well, eager lovers, as our recent
New Zealand adventure was proceeding. So . . . what were those
unsolicited thoughts of “going home” doing there? creeping, intruding, 
and nestling into this long-awaited hiking vacation.  As I mused about 
these inopportune thoughts, I instantly thought of those whose visions 
of home might be fraught with trauma, absence, uncertainty, rage or 
worse, and those displaced, never to ever consider going home. And 
I wondered: what or where is home actually? Not simply a physical 
structure, or a particular town, clearly. It must be an intra-psychic state
of mind, or a spiritual longing for safety and peace, or even perhaps, an 
ever-present humanistic craving to return to a place where we belong
(or once belonged) on this rapidly declining planetary experiment that
so often seems hopeless and cruel, devoid of justice, and now (?)
tipping on or over the edge of sanity and sustainability. I’ll speculate
that what lies at the core of this planetary machination is some deeply
imbedded assignment that has thrown us into the tangible world as we 
know it, where some higher mind or presence has inserted a chip into
our souls’ core with the assignment of never forgetting from whence we 
came, so that that no matter where we are, be it on some beatific mountain
top or on a cold cement and ever more ubiquitous prison floor, we are 
imbued with a blessing, a thread of knowing, that we are still, now and 
forever, on that mysterious journey home where we will be held and loved, 
and will, one day, be forever nestled within the arms of something greater
than what our eyes can see, something even greater than what our broken 
hearts can imagine.
                                                        
	- bruce silverman
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