It could be the subconscious urge to return. To put right the neurological memory of our own birth trauma from which we never recover. To return to the lost paradise, to aquire a sense of Self, to come home to God.
I did write about it in great depth on here many years ago. But lets say being ambushed a couple of times, bumping into a group of Mujahideen up in the higher reaches of Swat Valley, taking one of the most dangerous passenger flights in the world only for it to be aborted mid flight, leading to taking one of the most dangerous bus journeys in the world over the Ovir and Lowari passes, is not most peoples idea of tourism. The rest of the trip was mainly just as crazy and chaotic, but you'll have to wait for the book to come out to find out all about that.
I'ts also my most amazing experience also although I spent my time there in the Northwest Territories, mainly up in the Hindu Kush. Not for the feint hearted though...
Not to mention that Britain has 450,000 listed buildings, 20,000 scheduled ancient monuments, 26 World Heritage Sites, 1,624 registered parks and gardens, 600,000 known archacological sites (and more being found every day) 3,500 historic cemeteries, 70,000 war memorials, 4,000 sites of special scientific interest, 18,5000 medieval churches, , 2,500 museums containing 170 million objects.....and that's not to mention so many castles we have a few to spare.
All of that on an island about the size of Kansas.
Lyon, the graffitl capital of France, at least it seemed like that last time I was there. I bet if you look out of the hostel window there's a wall with "Mohamed was ere" written on it.....
Nothing really exciting, just out and about on my bike. Just off out now for the afternoon up into the Peak. Might get round to answeing your last post in your authentic self thread also. The song has special memories for me, it really is a bit special as well.
I never know what kind of day it is on my battlefield of ideals But the way she touches and the way it feels, must be just how it heals Ah, but it's got a little better since I let her sundance
I never know what time of year it is living on top of the fire But the robin outside has to hunt and hide in the cold frosty shire Ah, but he knows just what goes in between his cold toes and his warm ears And he's got no disguise in his eyes for his love as she nears.
He spreads her a shelter She takes the tall skies As they helter skelter Along the same sighs
And she wakes my days with a glad face She fakes and says I'm a hard case She makes and plays like a bad ace Carrying my ways into scarred space.
And she knows me well Ah, but what the hell Only time can tell, where we're going to
bodleing2 Forum Posts (6,132)
RE: Going Home - What is Home?
Dont you know, you share 99% of your dna with a rock!!!