#findhim

The super accurate (as in the most accurate) representation of a dinosaur to date.

Psittacosaurus, aka BestDinoBoi.

Where is home for him?

It’s a question we ask him all the time, sometimes without realizing how complicated the question is for some of us to answer. Better yet, is that the right question to be asking him at all?

You see he was here with her, there with them. When it was hot he went with Papa, when it was cold he was with Nana. He couldn’t tell if he was more peaches or sunshine, more Yankee or Dixie. He couldn’t tell if he was right here, or just on the way there. No, where home is never seemed to be the right question to ask him. All this time The them was more important than the place, the her was more important than the space.

Who is home for him?

Now were getting somewhere, but not quite. Revolving faces in all these places made “who” but a matter of time. Not a matter of consistency, not a matter of comradery, not a matter of comfort, not a matter of home.

So what the hell is home for him then?

Now we’ve gotten somewhere. Because no face, no place, no space makes home for him. You see while the intent may have been for him to feel at home everywhere, I’m sorry to say the effect was the opposite.

He’s a traveler that sees places he recognizes as safe, as warm, as inviting, but he’s still on the move so he must not recognize them as home. He keeps on looking for home. He keeps on looking, in time, in space, in the faces of those he trusts.

Home for him isn’t a time, a place, a space, a face, it’s a feeling. An upwelling he gets every so often that reminds him of a time he felt at ease. A feeling brought up in what, to him, now seems like a dream. A feeling of color, of light, of warmth, of vivid imagination, too often leaving him before he’s ready. Leaving without telling him if he’ll ever be ready again. He doesn’t know what ready looks like.

But he still searches.

He searches for the feeling that comforts his restless mind. That makes him feel less alone in the world. A presence that soothes his quietly aching soul, that focuses his quietly distracted mind. It’s a feeling that connects generations. To him, home has always been elusive, just past his fingertips, the most painful form of an infinite distance. 

He’s found glimpses, visions that proved to be illusions that further his confusions on finding that feeling once more. But He’s determined. He accepts the risks. When he thinks he has a chance a finding home he holds on to it. Better yet it holds on to him. Pulls on him hard, weighs on him heavy, heavier than he’ll ever show.

He knows he must take the chance to find home. Even where most would advise against, where many would call him mistaken, where some would call it obvious. He won’t live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to find home because he can’t bear to think of a live without it.

A Loving home, a Serene home, an Eternal home. A home he knows only in a dream and every so often stares him directly in the face while he’s afraid to look directly back at it. The pain of actually seeing home, of knowing it’s there and knowing he’s doomed to have to look elsewhere would kill him. Just the thought of it now hurts him too much to stay in one place for too long, even though he wants to.

So he travels.

He wonders, alone, hoping that maybe home will hear his silent cries, decode his encrypted messages, reach out and give him a reason to have hope. He hopes home is searching for him too. He thinks home means Love and Serenity for an Eternity.

He wants to know home separate from imagination.