Here's an excerpt from Chapter 2 of my new book "Sex, Anarchy & Agriculture; One Woman's Quest for a Sustainable Home":
Home. Home is where the heart is, that's what they say. What does that even mean? My heart is in my body, and my body can't seem to stay in one place for more than a few months. Ok, I know the old saying means home is where your family is, where the people you love, live. But for me those people are spread out all over, and to be honest I wouldn't want to live with most of them anyway.
Home is where the art is. I named an art show that, once. Paintings of semi-idyllic, semi-apocalyptic landscapes. Millennium Gothic. And back to the body. I use my body to make the art, but where do the ideas come from? My brain, also my body? Or somewhere else. I have never been able to settle on a belief system for that one. All I know is that I don't know. Where does the art come from, and where does it go? In my case, everywhere. I have left my art in every house I have ever lived—more than a hundred houses now. My life has taken me to so many places, and I leave a trail of art-crumbs so that my family can find me, in case I get lost in the woods.
I leave the art behind, but my body goes with me, and everything I have done goes back to it. Wherever you go, there you are. Physically. And wherever you find yourself, that's the path. Castaneda talked a lot about the “path with a heart.” Is that the way home, then?
I call it “the destiny of vicinity.” Whatever I find myself around, that's what influences me. That's my path. That's what I do, whom I meet, who I love and fuck and live with. And those relationships influence my thoughts, my feelings, my choices. No man is an island, and women? Even less so.
How about you? Are you at “home”? Or just in a house somewhere? What is the compass you use to navigate your life? How has the placement of your physical body affected your path through the world?