Bird brain

I wrote this by keying it into my teeny weeny mobile phone while waiting for my plane to take off. It's largely crap writing I know, and I'm tempted to delete this whole thing. Yet there's some truth in it about it about me and about that strange feeling I have in my gut, so physical I nearly keeled over and vomitted it out that warrants it being jotted down in black and white. It's real though it's crap, so I'm leaving it as it is, bad analogy and choppy writing and all. Because I don't know how much better I can do at this point of time.

I hate that feeling I get everytime I'm in a foreign airport and about to head home. Because, by some strange twist of nature, the place that is supposedly home has become alien, and that which is supposedly alien, takes on the familiarity of the womb. It's heart-wrenching almost to leave.

I've never understood the concept of homesickness. I've always felt comfortable and happy and satiated, just wherever I was and am. Is it because everywhere's home and nowhere's home? Is it because I haven't left my heart and my soul and my mind in a specific spot, and so there's no specific spot that is home? Even the spot where I've claimed to be home all my life?

Or is it that I belong to that group of people who owes no man and no place any allegience, possessing the heart and the mind of a lonesome wanderer? These people do not seek an end to their journey because they do not need or want to arrive anywhere.

They don't seek because they haven't lost. They don't turn back because they don't hail from anywhere. There's no end to the journey because there never was a beginning.

Neither backwards, nor forwards; neither here, nor there; neither coming, nor going; It just is.

Whenever I leave wherever it is that I am, I get on the plane with the greatest of reluctance. Each heavy-laden footstep is an inexorable walking away from where I really want to be. The steps I wake to get where I am suppose to be is like the deliberate and definite walking of towards the end.

Ironically the flight of the big silver bird means the grounding of another as the it takes on feet of clay or lead or even silver, changing from bird to mantlepiece ornamentals.