Thursday, October 25, 2012

Thinking about: Home

I sit here, in slightly damp and overtly dreary Amsterdam; waiting; watching; thinking. So often do I look forward, when curiously I previously most often looked back. When an anchor is lifted from the ocean floor, it's usually retrieved and placed on deck. But what happens when the anchor's cut loose? Madness! However to dock again!? But the boat will go on, and continue forward on its journey. There might be a record of where the boats been; ephemeral scraps, digital photos, and bountiful memories.

Next week I am returning to my place of birth in this world, and that's always interesting. Especially since my last visit, two years ago, so much has changed, or so I've heard. In honest, the pace of change can be quite slow; socially, politically. But a push forward can help one, or a city, remember its past, while not holding that holy. It seems that Cincinnati is moving forward in the world; a small renaissance of sorts underway in its built environment, as well as its urban spaces and places.

Though buildings can be patched, painted, and purchased by a new generation; social change comes about a bit slower. With change often comes fear, as we are still, as humans, deeply ingrained to avoid novelties–they are a threat. It's easy to romanticize from afar, as I have previously done so often upon my initial relocation across the sea. Romanticism washes away unpolished edges, brushing over once troublesome situations, creating an impressionistic pastel image. That city's pastels, for me, have faded.

More and more do I come to understand my place in European society; culture; family. When separating from a group that one needs to belong to, or wants to belong to, there is a disconnect. No longer part of the group. It's up to me make myself part of any group; receiving in return the opposite amount of energy which I expel, as all energy is equally balanced. Assimilating I am. Yet though below the surface as I grow closer to this group, and my language abilities shape, the fine-graned sands refine.

So comfortable am I on the continent that I harbor no outsider feelings. I belong here as I live here and I live here because I belong here. The path through the woods, out into the scholarly institutions, and then into the continually shrinking globe; resonated, shaped, and enabled erudition of the self, while further positioning that self forward on its journey toward self-less love, expression, and being. My path will never be straight forward, as the off-shoot secret-passageways tempt and seduce.