The idea of return has been looping in my mind. The birth of my nephew triggered an instinctive, almost desperate need to return home.
And so, home to my Breezy Hill. That place where I first became conscious of my existence. But I was desperate, almost manic for New York. New York, that place where I could free myself from my history. Back in New York, sobbing for Breezy Hill.
Safe places and secret spaces. Solace, in the illusory permanence of the body, unfolds as it must. How then can this body, with all its intricacies, ecstasies and treachery, be my agency for finding home?
A necessary return.