Home
Is a concept I struggle with
Where is home?
Sometimes I ask
Flying around the world
Is home
Lisbon?
An estuary city where the adventurous Tagus River
Meets the mysterious Atlantic Ocean
History recalls that seabound ships left
This city’s shore towards the four corners of the world
Some call it discovering new worlds
Others call it conquering,
Pillaging,
Raping,
Murdering and enslaving.
Whatever terms people decide to give
By the other side of the river
Lord Jesus Christ stands with arms wide open
Watching over
Who am I to judge?
I am just a little wave among all the waves
Hitting the shores of this coastal city
Where fishermen sail deep into the ocean
Praying to hopefully return to their families
With cartloads fresh fish
Oh that lightly charred sardine!
Oh the smell of roasted chestnuts
Tap-dancing in the hot oven
To the humble seller’s melodic chants
Nearby pigeons
Dance in circles their stylish pigeon-dance
Around the old smiling lady
Feeding corn and stale bread
Calmly
Each movement gently flowing
No rush to do anything
People sitting and chatting
In sunny esplanades
Drinking “cafés”
Laughing
And reminiscing the good old times…
I remember
From when I was still in elementary school
That unexplainable smell of warm spring rain
Gently touching the mud
Pregnant with the seeds of spring flowers
Waiting to blossom into the world
When rain fell
All the children would stop playing their usual games
Some seek cover, some not at all
And everyone would simply contemplate little raindrops
Falling from the sky
Into the open school ground
And when these short rain showers stopped
I would run with my best friends
Dig holes in the mud
And continue our glass bead game
Our circular beads
Clashing and departing
Only memories remain
Is home
Gantou?
A small village in south-east China
By the margins of Ou River
Where my kinship line is traced to
The ancestral tombs resting on bayberry covered hills
Calmly watching over the village and its descendants
Sometimes I wonder
If my ancestors are happy with all these changes happening:
From a small village to an industrial town
From small huts to tall buildings
From farms to factories
From cattle to cars
From streams to stench
Oh my childhood stream
Where I used to swim
It no longer flows
Standing still like a puddle of stenchy urine
Discharged by uncaring residents and factories
I remember I almost drowned playing in that stream
Fortunately I was saved from death
But how about the people slowly drowning in the polluted industrialized air?
How about the old people silently drowning in sorrow
For their past village memories no longer correspond to their present reality
Oh lonely elderly parents
Most of their children have migrated abroad
Filled up their pockets with foreign money
Some send back remittances
Some return to build big tall houses for their parents
Or for themselves to display and compete for social status
Their pockets might be full
Yet their roots are rotten
But who am I to judge?
I am just a little stream among many streams
Flowing trying to connect to the river of Life
Instead of judging others
I strive to clean up my own mind
And deeply dive into myself
Therefore I continue my search for home…
Is home
New York City?
Where I was born
Under the shadow of temple like skyscrapers
Spreading ideas and ideologies
Coded in images, sounds, products and services
Casting a web like illusive world
Where people flock like sheep
To this land of struggle and opportunity
Searching for the American dream
And once the ‘chosen’ ones finally reach this place
They are given a take it or leave it offer
Either take a bite of the American dream like everyone else does
Or go back to where you came from, loser
I wish I knew where I came from
So I’ll continue searching…
Is home
Ithaca?
A land of waterfalls and peaks
Rising and falling
Into its vineyard surrounded lakes
A hilly place this is
Where learning and un-learning occurs
Where conditioning and un-conditioning occurs
Depending on the seeker
A place where the bonds of friendship are tied and untied
Where the cold heart is tickled by the warmth of its downtown festivals
Where all kinds and types of people somehow gather together
To celebrate, dance, sing and eat
Crunchy apples, savory chilis, pad-thais, momos
And whatever dishes you can think of
Ithaca can be place of inspiration
Contemplation
And meditation
On its South hill
A Buddhist monastery
Stands majestic
Spreading dharma into the ten directions.
Hm I am still not settled yet so I’ll continue searching…
Is home
Kolkata?
A city in the land of Bengal, India
Where the Ganga flows though
To surrender herself to the divine Sea
Where the East meets West
Not so peacefully
Where everyday is a battleground
Of class, caste, race and ethnicity
Yet from chaos
Sometimes order ensues
After the traffic fog clears
The divine nature of things
Can be experienced by the river
Impermanence
When people bid farewell to their beloved ones
For no(body) lives on forever
Interdependence
When upper and lower castes all depend on the same river for survival
The Void
When the river fully absorbs and becomes the force acted upon it
It might be
That the concept of home is
Self-constructed by the Ego
It might be
That the concept of home is
Beyond the concept of space
Beyond the concept of time
And it is necessary to transcend these
It might be
That in order to transcend these
I need to clean up my sense of “I”
Wash off the mind’s dirt
Sweep the dust of cyclic existence
Clean up past karma
And purify all impurities
It might be
That home is a state of mind
Beyond consciousness
Or consciousness meeting consciousness
And exclaiming
Long time no see
It was about time my old friend
Welcome Home
Search no more
For you have finally arrived at your Destination.
