It seems to always return to this as a rebel.
The dis-ease of exilic existence. Not fitting in this world precisely because of trying to make a new one. Not giving in, or giving up, when little holds and one is again left standing on rubble, each time a little less trusting of any potential to rebuild.
How to feel at home in this world, not be personally destroyed by it, as one who can’t abide by so much of what it does, when even the bits of scaffolding that one finds are just as quickly torn away.
How to hang on, given the necessity and impossibility of sustaining ground beneath one’s feet under what for now, likely for one’s lifetime, is the damage and diaspora of the human condition.
* * *
If you want to get word when I put out new musings, sign up at cbmilstein.wordpress.com. Enjoy, share, reprint, post, tweet any of my writings as long as it’s free as in “free water” and “freedom.”
(Photo by Cindy Milstein, street art, Montreal, summer 2014.)