A Place to Call Home
By Z Zoccolante
This weekend I took a trip to the Grand Canyon. It was my first time there. Because I grew up in Hawaii, I’ve done more international travel than the in the United States. One of my French friends who lived in LA for six months saw more in that time than in the eight years I’d lived here full time.
I think some of it is that I get comfortable and lazy. I’m reminded of how I use TV to escape or how books have always been my way to check out of this world, even as a kid. They could take me everywhere while I was still in my room.
But this year I’d like to travel, road trip, see things, and go on adventures that include me, instead of me imagining I’m other characters or watching other people’s make pretend lives.
And sure, the Grand Canyon was majestic. It’s a mile deep. Watching the cliffs mark time all the way down, in lines and different colorations, reminds me of all the stories of the great flood that span every civilization.
But I’m captured still by the small things. By a postcard that shows Native American symbols and their meanings. One screams out to me. A black circle colored all the way through. It’s called a Hogan and it means “permanent home”. When I see it, I almost cry.
It moves something in me that makes me feel as though that’s what I’ve been looking for my whole life, what I’ve written stories about, why I search the world. It’s for adventure and freedom, but in the end, aren’t we all looking for a place, a person, or a feeling to call home.
Recently I’ve see this in another’s eyes, which is strange because I wasn’t in love with them. I just felt a kindship as though we’d traveled here before, done a great adventure, been on this journey together. Maybe we have and maybe in this life we won’t cross paths again that way. Who knows.
But still, it’s the thing I search for when I don’t realize I’m searching.
The feeling, adventure, freedom, connection, the life source nourishing, all-encompassing peace along the journey, of coming back, of returning to the place, thing, person that feels like . . . home.
And home feels like Love, the kind that doesn’t need words.