A simpler life

... They don't understand that a nice house doesn't matter because they don't understand that I don't live here anymore, I'm just visiting. I'm just waiting for the call to return home.

Maybe that's the real meaning of the village I keep dreaming about.

I'm with you there. If you checked into a Motel 6 for one night and housekeeping came by to find you feverishly repapering the walls and recarpeting in a shade more suitable to you...can you imagine the look on their faces? They'd think you were nuts, and you just might be. You're there in that hotel room for a reason, you're headed somewhere, but to spend your whole time decorating it...

While your longing to head home is understandable, maybe there's a reason you're still here. Our concept of time is very limited in comparison to God's. Patience 'till the very end my friend. ;)

I'm not going anywhere until I get the call, bro.

But I'm not planning of staying, either.

I think you guys may enjoy the following poem by Rumi, out of the Islamic tradition. It's a favorite of mine.

Whoever Brought Me Here



All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home. This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

Trans. Coleman Barks.​
 
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