Home II

On hands and knees I sift through sands for the lost stone. My arm reaches unnaturally miles and miles through the dunes away from the burning sun and closer.. closer until I imagine my hope becoming electric as it nears cold granite.

Instead, I blink, and it is not a simple moment or reflex this time but becomes an awakening because there before me clutched in my hand amidst the running sands through my fingers is a parchment.  I grant myself a moment of breath and reprieve at my surprise as time does not seem to be an impending factor here, nor do I remember if I am ensconced within the fabric of a mission at all.

Releasing the last bit of tension caused by my search I reach out and tentatively open the parchment to read it’s words. I am not afraid to discover if they will burn. I am not afraid to discover if they will disappoint or even be inconceivable or untranslatable to me. Call it intuition, but I know that the medium is irrelevant to the message I am about to receive.

Staring at almost translucent paper, lit by the waning desert sun, I read and it says:

Home is not,  nor was nor ever will be…. where.

Tears that I wish would evade me fail to do so. My journey will be long and truth it’s maker. This I have always known yet have always needed reminding.

I fold the parchment and pack it with the rest of my things. Step by sinking step I move forward to grace the next landscape and although the nature of my being in time and space carries me where I go. Forces unseen begin to transcend so that I, soon and finally reach and meet the Home I know.