All of life is a coming home.
Salesmen, secretaries, coal miners, beekeepers, sword swallowers-- all of us.
All the restless hearts of the world...all trying to find a way home.
It's hard to describe what I felt like then.
Picture yourself walking for days in a driving snow.
You don't even know you're walking in circles-- the heaviness of your legs in the drifts;
your shouts disappearing into the wind.
How small you can feel.
How far away home can be.
Home.
The dictionary defines it as both a place of origin...
and a goal or destination.
And the storm?
The storm was all in my mind.
Or, as the poet Dante put it..."ln the middle of the journey of my life I found myself in a dark wood... for I had lost the right path."
Eventually I would find the right path...but in the most unlikely place.
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