Far From Home

Another life takes place; it is spread unevenly across the land. I experience the world move from place to place, with each movement in space anchored by the invisible boundaries binding me to a homeworld. I move through the world, crossing the terrain of different environments. At times, this anchor reaches a threshold, at which point the human body comports itself in the world differently. Suddenly, the body cease to belong to the world and instead experiences itself as a zero gravity plot of materiality with no discernable sense of orientation. To be far from home. What this does not mean is to be far from the nest, womb, or sanctuary. To be far from home one need not even travel beyond the home. The nocturnal murmuring of some homeward displacement begins in the very midst of an already established placement in the home. The home grips the body, and in return, the body opens itself up to the dense materiality structuring the walls, ceilings, and floorboards, all of which constitute the physical space termed “home.” The body is dizzy in the human home. A human subject must grip the walls of the home in order to move from one room to another. Another life takes place in the basement, still another in the dinning room. There is no reconciliation between these rooms; they are cast into an anonymous world with no relation between them. Frozen, the human body stands between a series of rooms, caught in a fractured limbo, and thus finding reprieve only in the ambiguous space that separates one room from another.