A moment ago 2

While I have been here, I have spent many hours putting pen to paper. The only medium I have had has been just that, pen and paper. It was strange at first, awkward not to be able to write to the constant rhythmic on and off ticking of a clicking keyboard beneath my fingers. Then it became like returning to an old friend, rediscovering some long lost love in the soft slow curling strokes of each letter as it appeared upon the paper. Words have flowed from my mind to my fingertips and into ink upon paper. It has become some kind of new and sacred ritual. It is like the ritual I have discovered myself performing each day.

I find myself, while I am here, so near the ocean, walking out to the soft sand. I stand there, staring across the pale blue, the crystaline graceful beauty of the clear washing waves that crash upon the shore and spread out into the ocean before me. I move into the water, letting it envelope my feet, swallow me into its gentle cool embrace like an ancient lover. I feel myself become lost in the sensation, become lost in the peace and tranquility of the motion of the water, of the breath of wind across my face and across the water's surface. I walk in until I am in nearly up to my chest and then I stand there. I stop, frozen between water and wind, feet in the soft sand and rock. I stop, positioned between all the elements as I turn my face to the sun, and am lost in all of it, in the scent, the sound, the feel, the warmth and coolness. I am lost in it all until I am no longer thinking, no longer feeling. There is only the rhythm of the waves, the constant motion of the wind, the shifting of the sand with the currents, and the heat of the sun upon my face.

Then, I come slowly back to earth. I recall my life here, my love, my friends, my truth, and my need to become. Tranquility remains, but it can wait. The ocean calls to my soul, the wind speaks to my heart, the sand whispers my name, the sun caresses my skin and beckons me back. One day I will live by the ocean, and the salt and water on the air will not seem to distant, but for now so many things draw me back, bring me to one single thought. I think of home.

Home is not a place, not a things, but a feeling. It is people I have come to love, to lean on, to depend on. Home is where my heart is, even if the land and the ocean make my soul and body sing, there will always be home. Home is with you. My love, my heart. Home has unsuspectedly become a word that draws me in as it never had before. I can not help it, but I want to go home, and be with you. All of you.