A Man Homeless

I sat down with an old journal yesterday, thumbing through and looking for some insights and openings to teshuvah. This page was tucked away under the cover, dated 23 June 2003. It's still all sorts of relevant. Presented here slightly updated.

I am searching for a wife, and I am searching for a place to live.

There can not be too much noise. I am all for birds chirping, and the sound of the wind in the trees, people laughing, occasionally a car. To approach peace, I can not be exposed to the full chaotic ensemble of the city every time I sit to think or open my window.

Still - it can not be too far from the heart of it all, where people press together, each on his own own mission, and together form a crowded hive, where occasionally a musician tips his hat, or a crazy prophet tears the shabby covers off of the complacent life. No - not too far from where reality is born anew every screaming moment to be replaced again and again by wave upon wave of raw existence.

Exposed to the sky - there are some things that you can never do unless you are exposed to the the sky - and the sweetness of sleeping out doors under a fall sky can never be replaced.

Arches or curves, wood, stone, some personality - nowadays you find them mass produced and without color, without life, stacked one on top of the other like eggs in the market, one like the other, all 90 degrees, all white, with little windows. Give me a quirk, a step up, a hidden room, a sunny place, a bay window, something to love.

(Oh, but will you love me when I am just a man?)

Warm - the winters here can be so cold - perhaps because we are more exposed. I sat last year for days wrapped in blankets while it snowed - if it had been warm inside I would have dared to venture out.

Some places are ready to fall over, leaking, ceiling half caved-in, spots on the walls, drafts from odd places. Find me a place with strength - a shelter - that doesn't sway with every breeze and let in every storm.

Do not forget space - a man is formed by space - a good question can draw out unknown poetry - a friend who listens, an earthen jug for wine, a home for a man homeless.