Prague

I woke to the sound of traffic from my second floor room. my window,slightly open to appease A stubborn heater which kept going all night. outside the street was jammed with the morning clamor of cars and trucks nailed together like box cars headed for the same direction. I got up in A foggy haze. My eyes half shut from too deep of A sleep where unwanted thoughts may have krept in un willingly. I made my way to the makeshift Kitchen, with the old timeless burner and A military like pitcher which would become my lifeline to the real world,especially after A good coffee. And then I remembered I was in Prague and yes, that there was A pressing matter that brought me hear from the start, and slowly the thoughts for the day appeared from the haze, and I remembered that I came to see my brother, who for reasons out of my control had so far eluded my finding him, and that this was becoming more A catch and seek than A catch. These crazy thoughts which crept up,especially at night and that it should all happen in A strange land,threw me off guard. But it was first thing first, and for now I can only focus on my coffee.

Prague

The key is to write when I am not traveling. When the everyday lethargy seeps in with A tender unavoud trickle that one day I wake up to an emptiness and void that I cannot shake. And there is so much to write about. I can write about the cracked walls of my childhood, and how I was shuffled from place to place, and how the bearings of A stable household came loose for me when I was still too young to fully absorb the trauma. Yes; I can write about that and someday I hope to write more of it as way of moving forward in my life. And yet; i have the greatest of dreams which not even this moldable material world we live can destroy; if anything it brings me closer to them. And so i will continue with my travels, and will find my place of gathering and retreat. I come from A stock of travelers and my birthright is east. I travel with those people who came out of shaken pasts,who perhaps did not receive enough of the love they needed to continue their rightful paths, and perhaps only later mustered the necessary strength and will to go at it on their own. My Birthright is the east where my ancestors came from; not the suburban sprawl of A lost America, materialist America where the remodeled kitchens have more priority than charity. The east was burned to ashes as well as the life of my ancestors, and yet for generations on, they lived on that dark earth tilling their devoted hands into that soil. That is really my land, that I need to reclaim for myself. The soul of a jew is very deep. You cannot uproot A soul without it wanting to find its home. And so here in Prague among the many shifting movements of those who came here, I too find myself wanting once again to find my rightful home,and reclaiming it again and again to those who thought otherwise.