Kelze - Hofgeismar (Hessen, Germany)
Far from home and I have no idea where to go. Home is no longer an idea. It's not even a goal in the near future anymore. And even less a memory of the past. Everything fades. It's nothing more than a word. No images. No feeling. No scent. If it's still something, then it's a tender longing for a place to rest. A place where I can retreat and be safe. A place as a hiding spot.
There are people who can achieve or create a million things. In one day they accomplish as much as others do in a year. They move through the world with an ease and naturalness that knows no boundaries. No matter how far they go, the world is open to them. These people feel no limits within themselves, limits that can be heavy as stones and prevent one from living a free life. What a wonderful feeling it must be to exist in the world like that.
I don't feel that.
Perhaps I travel for this reason, because I don't want to accept my limitations. Because I long for that utopian place of rest and freedom that I lost far too early. And yet I feel them with every kilometer I leave behind. I push my body through space, but not the boundaries. They remain. Heavy as stones. And they frighten me. Fear that visits me in the nights. That robs me of sleep and spoils my days. It comes in dreams from which I wake up drenched in sweat and which don't let me fall asleep again for a long time afterward.
I wanted to start looking for a house or an apartment. Here in this area that I like so much. But even the first step is difficult for me. I have to exert enormous effort just to begin the search. It's as if I've found a comfort in movement that won't let me go and offers me more pleasant possibilities than a permanent residence. Being fixed in one place where you know no one and have no history yet is frightening.
It's somehow paradoxical: When we lived in a fixed place, the leap into nomadic life was frightening. Now it's exactly the opposite. Finding something permanent, that's now the adventure. Am I ready for it?
Far from home and I have no idea where to go. Home is no longer an idea. It's not even a goal in the near future anymore. And even less a memory of the past. Everything fades. It's nothing more than a word. No images. No feeling. No scent. If it's still something, then it's a tender longing for a place to rest. A place where I can retreat and be safe. A place as a hiding spot.
There are people who can achieve or create a million things. In one day they accomplish as much as others do in a year. They move through the world with an ease and naturalness that knows no boundaries. No matter how far they go, the world is open to them. These people feel no limits within themselves, limits that can be heavy as stones and prevent one from living a free life. What a wonderful feeling it must be to exist in the world like that.
I don't feel that.
Perhaps I travel for this reason, because I don't want to accept my limitations. Because I long for that utopian place of rest and freedom that I lost far too early. And yet I feel them with every kilometer I leave behind. I push my body through space, but not the boundaries. They remain. Heavy as stones. And they frighten me. Fear that visits me in the nights. That robs me of sleep and spoils my days. It comes in dreams from which I wake up drenched in sweat and which don't let me fall asleep again for a long time afterward.
I wanted to start looking for a house or an apartment. Here in this area that I like so much. But even the first step is difficult for me. I have to exert enormous effort just to begin the search. It's as if I've found a comfort in movement that won't let me go and offers me more pleasant possibilities than a permanent residence. Being fixed in one place where you know no one and have no history yet is frightening.
It's somehow paradoxical: When we lived in a fixed place, the leap into nomadic life was frightening. Now it's exactly the opposite. Finding something permanent, that's now the adventure. Am I ready for it?