Coming Home

I have been gone from my home for nine months. I think to myself, what is home and I no longer have an answer to this question. Tom Waits once said, "Wherever, I lay my head is home" which has a drifter connotation. But in the truest sense, I am my own home, as I carry my internal sense of peace and security.

This is an ending of sorts. But life has many endings.

This is also a beginning. Life has many beginnings. I once was a seed and I planted myself deep in the soil of Israel. But the ground must be ready to receive you. I struggled and I grew, but so slowly. My tendrils unfurled, cautiously now; fearing that they would not receive either the sun or the rain that they would need to grow.

So I transplanted myself in Thailand, to challenge myself even more. There was too much sun and my tendrils withered. There was too little water and my roots shrank. I shook all growth from my body, in order to sustain myself. Like an Israeli transplant, I sought protection with thorns. I grew strong in harsh conditions. However, when the rains came at last, I was ready to receive them. The frogs gathered around to rejoice, and sing throughout the night to herald the first rain.

I was a seed and I went to plant myself, to see what fruits I would bear. Let us not name the fruit; let us not dissect it, for it quality and taste. Let us not discuss its value. It is not about the yield; it is about the path.

Life has many endings. I was a seed, but I have grown. I was a seed which grew into a tree, which bore fruits and these fruits fell to the ground. So that the ground will remember it.

Life has many beginnings. I am a seed. I will plant myself, perhaps in Boston. Wherever I lay my head is home. May the soil be ready to receive me.