Caterpillars“We’re leaving the parking lot. The pupae squirm from the cocoon.”

– EPIK 2010 farewell

It’s nowhere far away from  the hive; in fact, it’s quite a busy little village for the region. I’m now somewhere miles from people, faces, stories; in fact, I’m surrounded by them constantly and forcefully. I’m not on that rickety bus, each pothole sending shocks, huge jolts knocking up memories of the past. But it’s the same rain which falls on the window. It’s the rain which expresses simple truths to all men and women and creatures. Things fall from the sky. Things happen. This is happening. This is happening, again.

A few of these people catch my eye, hold my attention. I often wonder about all the strangers. You and I can never please everyone. By holding a flag high and claiming, “For this I stand!” you build your tribe. And tribes overlap. The being inside two tribes – or better yet, in between two tribes – this is freedom. Always nowhere. Always change. Always here.

Still carrying bags, though.


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