It is still a slow progress, incremental.

Little by little, inch by inch, revelation by revelation, condemnation and recitation, I make my way towards something like a home. This isn’t a physical place, or even a metaphysical place. It doesn’t exist, in as much as it needs to be created and still has to be created and then, once created, it needs to be constantly recreated, every single day. That might make it the task we’re all engaged in, eyes down to the ground and a look of concentration on our distracted face. The problem is one of concentration. Glance away and it’s gone, a helium balloon at a fair, up towards the sky. It is a problem of application. It is a problem of buried pain and a source distraction and complication that can never be unravelled. No, here we are, homewards, but never home.