How long has it been since I’ve felt a sense of belonging to any particular country? When I was fifteen, though I’d yet to fully work it out in my mind, the notion had already struck me as folly; and to this day, it seems that one’s conscious presence in this world is too great a miracle to waste on such a rude concept as nations, with their ideologies, flags, borders, and guns. And certainly one’s energy is too precious to fritter away arguing with people who see themselves as being on this or that side. It’s like going to the station to meet someone you hope will turn out to be a friend, only to find him or her surrounded by baggage enough for an army, and that you are expected to carry it all — whereas people aware of the miracle of their conscious presence in this world arrive without baggage. They arrive, regardless of their differences in language and appearance, with open hearts. Their passport is a smile. Their speech is a blessing. Their mission is love. And when they and the nations that claimed them have passed into dust, that love will live on.
July 20, 2020
[ 811 ]