Today my body and mind are in my home of San Francisco, and today was like a day where you felt the old world coast again, the wind seeking every crevice and flying over your balding head like you were walking on the old sand dunes of the Pacific Coast and the winds drew worn ships to its harbor, back when there was no city here and this peninsula filled itself with scattered and loose outposts of community. The cold wind here is relentless and timeless, subtle sometimes but ever-present, as if you can still smell what it meant to be here at its genesis. I appreciate the history of my home in this city, and these are the last few months when I will be experiencing this so tonight I am indulging myself.
Today was for writing while thinking about Africa, Germany, and Washington state, places I have been and am returning to soon enough. And I think we all must come home in order to say something to that home in writing or action or thought, to recognize the place and situation which created and molded you and to sit awhile and reflect with it, to whatever end. I have always known that my SF home was a place to come back to but not to stay in, that this will be my home and always will be and I'm glad. Now, I am eager to get on with it once again because I feel I am called to be somewhere else. Dealing with the origins of your life allows you to follow more freely the movements of your life beyond.
"Everyone deserves music, sweet music." - Michael Franti
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