Little Bill

Everywhere I turn another sign points to unsettlement. One event collapsed dominoes which resulted in the disturbance of my harmony. The Japanese and Chinese call this concept Wa, referring to inner balance and peace.

This disruption has most recently taken form in the concept of "home." My recent visit to my parents revealed that the house where I was raised no longer felt like home. I went seeking a comfort that turned out not to be there. Instead I felt as if I were trespassing upon the new lives my parents have constructed now that their nest is empty.

I don’t know if I can comfortably refer to that town, or house, as home ever again.

Even here, in my larger-than-average New York bedroom, I feel detached; no longer identifying with the possessions which define me. I am no longer pacified by my music, nor by the familiar books on the shelves. Are these all clues which point to something larger on the horizon? Perhaps foreshadowing a new incubation?

The sense of home must come from within. I must feel at one with myself first. Then perhaps I shall find my Wa.