This is not my home.
I came here for work. And there no longer appears to be any work for me here. And the work (it chose me, not the other way around) is important to me. It sustains me and provides me with oxygen. I am good at it.
I am very thankful and blessed for the friends I have made here. And a lot of you, I have met through my work. I am very grateful for this. If you have met me while I am drawing or teaching (or reading my poetry), you have (indeed) met me while I was truly alive and in love. You (each and every one of you) have been my home here, my home away from home. You are a place I can feel safe & myself. You have given me much love & shelter. You have fed me (with both food and words) and have (so many times) given me a sense of sanctuary, safety & security.
But this is not my home.
Spring is here. This little bird is feeling the tease of the sun on his feathers. It has been so long since he has drank from the blossoms. Von blue skies warm my eyes & my dusty wings, fill me with courage. Change is coming. I can feel it now. It is time to fly.
But I will take all of you with me, inside... In my tiny, fast beating bird-heart. Your love & your well-wishes will travel with me and will make me feel that perhaps I can do this...
That (maybe, just maybe?) I am courageous & brave. A new home is calling me.
The World Awaits. The World Begins...
(Brent Harpur, 31/8/2015.)
