There is a fire that fumes wonders of shadowy trees, whose sparks linger in the sky; calling for those furthest to let them know that there is such a thing as intimacy. Whispering for those closest the great tales of faraway lands. Preaching to all, of all the outstanding things that await on the other side of I.
Be it this side or the other, the I is always elsewhere and elsewhere starts and ends at home.
And so, let the stars guide us to our death, to other sides and other depths, to rich encounters and unpleasant truth, to unending silence. And when all is done, may we rise to the song of earth and sky, to be embraced as their own and may elsewhere end at last with home.
But before all that, we must follow the trees, and soak ourselves in their path of leaves, in order to look at what everyone sees, to see beyond what they all see, to stare hard and long at what calls to thee, to choose the road as thy cornerstone. To let the stone drive thee from home and watch that stone turn into home.
But after this and before that, and even more, through it all, keep present thy fire and sway to its rhythm, hear that call and reck for all, so that wherever you may roam you may find a home.
Before paths without and paths within, rest your feet and just give in, and at last let your weary eyes feast as elsewhere starts and ends with home.