Quite often, triteness and rightness don’t always go together. But in this case, they most certainly do.
Home is where the heart is.
This is my Austin crib-where I live.
She holds many secrets and her walls and wonderment have provided, the past 3 years, remedial therapy beyond belief.
I can’t even begin to tell you how this place, Waterstreet 308, has helped me find myself.
Oh my. Thank you.
But, at the end of the day, it’s still just a house, that holds a gypsy spirit.
For home, in my cosmic worldview, is wherever my hearts leads, bleeds, heeds.
Because of this, I’m at home in so many locations and venues.
Home is where I experience, firsthand, the rush, gush, hush and blush of life and love.
I am, without a doubt, nomadic in nature.
I enjoy and, at the same time, and plagued by a certain restlessness, unquietness, impatience, restiveness.
There has always been something deep in me that want to do more, see more, be more, go more, live, and love more.
This is probably why the houses that I live in are…houses, resting places, pit stops.
I am at home in the world, when I am surrounded by the people I love and the things that make me happy.
Click,
Jack
