The Land of My People

My daughter jokes and says, “I need to go to Dubai. It is the land of my people.” It isn’t.  But maybe something stirs inside her. Maybe she feels it. 

And I wonder, which is the land of my people. I am an immigrant with a cacophonous mix of ancestors. All of them different from the other. In opposition. In other eras they’ve been at war. Yet their genes mix harmoniously within me.

Still I long for a place to rest, to fit, to be non-anomalous.

This place is my home, but that place could easily be. I seem to fit everywhere and nowhere. 

And I realize that the earth is the land of my people. Here under the same sun, the same moon, the same velvet blanket of stars, this is the land of our people. Here we are all one being, slowly spinning under a spotlight, in the darkness, like a whirling dervish in slow motion. Why then did we build borders to separate ourselves? 

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This is the Journey to Joy series. Notice something that brought you joy and share it on your own blog or in the comments. Don’t forget to ping back so we can spread the joy further in this journey called life.