“Tis not too late to seek a newer world”
I hesitate to write here. I’m half afraid new words here are more nails in the coffin that was the dream of Rome. The thrill of being home has faded. The rain has returned and I just found three cracks in my rainboots.
But…I do sit on a cozy leather couch by light of a freshly fallen Christmas tree and a 47″ flat screen tv in a 3 bedroom, 2 car garage house complete with my own office. Blah, blah, blah. We’ve unpacked all our belongings that were packed away in storage for more than 2 years. It felt like Christmas 2 months early. And just like Christmas, the thrill of the new fades.
Somewhere between the many coats of paint on the walls of the downstairs bathroom, staring at bright, blank white gloss, I was reminded of Tennyson’s depiction of Ulysses. After all he’d seen, he couldn’t settle for kingdom and just being home. I get it.
all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life!
Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is where I sigh. Though stunned and thankful for all that is at my fingertips, there’s present desire for everything not in fingertip reach. On this side of my fickle shore, I’d trade it all for the noisy garbage trucks, the rude shop owners, the peeing immigrants, the relentless rose sellers. The blue mornings, the ancient looking nights, everything new, even if uncomfortable. There it’s okay to feel out of place.