“Home”, where is it? What is it? “H” “O” “ME”? A planetary place of personal space for a human? A place of safety, of containment, a place to recharge and of being oneself? So much nostalgia is involved with a home, the place where memory webs are spun, where the forming years of who we became are designed and written. What if we live a nomadic life with ever changing homes? What then becomes of that place of safety?
Today as I drove threw villages in the Lebanese mountains, I was haunted by the sense of light emptiness that comes from the search for the meaning of life…
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