Almost seven years ago now, I was walking through the streets and it’s quite difficult to describe, this feeling of vanishing quite simply into air. At first I pictured myself clinging onto the handrails where I could find them, my legs losing weight, drifting up to the sky. In order to overcome the spiritual despair I absented myself from my body, quite freely. I knew what love was, I was fortunate then. She didn’t understand why I had to end things there. Many times I have wanted to apologise to myself, as I grieved for my own mind, somewhere in the ether, quite simply on its on plane and making its own journey. The body and mind are not quite as inseparable as one might believe. We had our romance back then, we smoked cigarettes in abandoned gardens, leafing through novels. The mind set the body a task: Survive without me. And as the Springtime harks back and I reclaim old lost territories I look in the mirror at this damaged frame and I am stunned by the automaticity of it all: it is here, my home. All this time we are looking for our home in life and here it is. Our minds may wander, dissociate, yearn for faraway place... But here where our eyes can communicate to ourselves are deepest spiritual travails. There is a real, crystalline perception of ourselves, however far removed from the depths of our spiritual selves. My eyes do not see what I see in my dreams, in the places my body cannot follow. There will always be that gulf. But for now I am at home in myself, for the first time in some time.