Sunday, 8 January 2012

Coming Home

All of life is a coming home. Salesmen, secretaries, coal-miners, bee-keepers, sword-swallowers, all of us, all the restless hearts of the world, all trying to find a way to go home.

It's hard to describe how I felt like then. Picture yourself walking for days in a driving snow. You don't even know you're walking in circles. The heaviness of your legs in the drifts. Your shouts disappearing into the wind. How small you can feel. How far away home can be.

Home. The dictionary defines it as both a place of origin and a goal or destination.

The storm? The storm was all in my mind. Or, as the poet Dante put it: "In the middle of the journey of my life, I found myself in a dark wood for I had lost the right path."

Eventually I would find the right path, but in the most unlikely place.

From Patch AdamsAll of life is a coming home. Salesmen, secretaries, coal-miners, bee-keepers, sword-swallowers, all of us, all the restless hearts of the world, all trying to find a way to go home.

It's hard to describe how I felt like then. Picture yourself walking for days in a driving snow. You don't even know you're walking in circles. The heaviness of your legs in the drifts. Your shouts disappearing into the wind. How small you can feel. How far away home can be.

Home. The dictionary defines it as both a place of origin and a goal or destination.

The storm? The storm was all in my mind. Or, as the poet Dante put it: "In the middle of the journey of my life, I found myself in a dark wood for I had lost the right path."

Eventually I would find the right path, but in the most unlikely place.

From Patch Adams

No comments:

Post a Comment