When I'm away from home (meaning the place that holds the wealth of my material objects), quantum physics takes hold. Arbitrary linkages seem less so, my whole existence becomes a series of intersecting laser beams. This has happened before: when everything hooked on Graham Swift and New York was like a teather ball that spun until the rope went taut. Or when, at the top of a stone path and the bottom of my future's bottle, I stumbled upon my step sister in Greece. Coincidence falls to the wayside. Either this, or I have a brain tumor that's pressing against the existential lobe.
Last night, while bemoaning the fact that my time in Winnipeg is grain-by-grain draining out of the glass, I was talking out the reality of "here" vs. "there". Is it fair for me to grow so damned attached to a place I'm about to leave? Or to the people I'll leave behind? And what of the shitstorm I left behind in Vancouver? The half-baked shot at heart-ache and the box of ashes on my windowsill?
At a flea market this past weekend, when approached by a dealer of trinkets, I really did say, "I'm not looking for anything in particular, but I'll know it when I see it."
Then, this horoscope today: You have a tendency to be exceedingly particular about where you live, and what it means to live there. It would be far simpler at this point in your life to consider the whole world as your home, which in the most literal sense is true. If you're going to follow your age-old calling to explore ideas, places and people, you need your feet and your ideas about life to be a little looser than normal and to move more freely. You're not looking for anything in particular, but you'll know it when you find it. And while you're not necessarily looking for anyone, you could say that where you feel love is where you can call home.
Which is to say I feel home in a number of places right now.
