Homesick

Most of my writing these days is reflecting on the idea/place/space/people of home. In fact, much of my daily expereince is absorbed by the draining feeling that I dont have one. Is home a culture? A community? Thoughts that keep us surviving in a world that has forgotten us and abandoned our deepest human needs? Years ago I began my dissertation research with the notion of cultural fragmentation and the spiritual void associated with the loss of community, family, and the emotional support of close networks of friends and collegues. I used to be ashamed to say that I am lonely... or too even come to consciousness about this hopeless feeling. Recently I told someone that the idea that we, as human beings, are isolated is an illusion...that reality reveals that we are intimately connected with the universe and each other in powerful ways. Yet, today and yesterday, and the day before that, I cant see this anymore... How is it that joy, if it is real and deep, can be drained so quickly? That life itself can seem so empty and meaningless. Perhaps it is part of the process of aging... that one day you wake up and see that things never seem to turn out the way you had hoped or envisioned for yourself. I find myself going elsewhere in my imagination to other lives I could have lived or should be living, to other people, and places, and times where my heart can sing in unity with the people that love me. Its a sign that to me that I am not content, nor fulfilled by the cirsumstances of the here and now.. and yet the greater problem is that I rarely ever have been fulfilled in life. This is the ultimate place of homelessness.