A poplar and a dream

Sunday morning.

My eyes remind me that I should go back to bed before the day begins, but I fear it‘s too late – the former industrial buildings of Berlin Mitte, visible beyond the balcony window, have steadily emerged from the night and the heart-shaped, long-stemmed leaves of the big poplar in the courtyard have begun their trembling dance in the cool morning breeze.

Why am I in Berlin?

Sure, there is always family to see and friends to catch up with. But the real reason is that I am homeless. Well, I should rather say 'without a home' or simply 'a nomad', as it is a conscious choice of mine, rather than the result of sorry circumstances. And yet, after over seven months of this particular form of modern nomadism, just as my eyes long for sleep, I long for nothing more than a place to call my own. Three weeks of working here, two days of staying on a friend's couch there, then two days on the road and a week of hiking in the mountains. Two weeks of training in this place, a day of traveling, then three days at a conference in that city. Of course every stop, every day is filled with countless beautiful moments, meaningful encounters, new insights and much learning. And yet, underneath all that, there is a growing yearning.

In my blissful freedom of movement lies a deep desire to settle. And in fact – it goes back way beyond the past seven months – it goes back seven and ten years, when I set out from my protected and comfortable parental home to finish school abroad. During all the years since and in all the five countries I dwelled in, although there certainly were feelings of homeliness at times and close ties with friends and neighbours, which conveyed a certain sense of belonging, all along I hedged deep within me a dream. A dream of a village - my village.

With time, this dream developed into a vision that grew clearer and more elaborate as I tended to it and as I shared and developed it with friends and lovers. More recently, this vision is being incorporated into concrete plans for coming years, as the intellectual, social and professional realms I navigate in are converging more and more towards the question at the very heart of that vision: what immediate environment can we build for ourselves that allows us to heal, over generations to come, the relationships we hold with our earth-mother, with each other and with ourselves?

In my vision I see a village.

I see children running joyfully from one house to the other and then off into the woods.

I see youngsters that find courage on their path and strength in their identity.

I see adults sharing and cooperating, creating meaningful social and economic relationships.

I see elders that are integrated, honoured and looked after, looking after toddlers and passing on stories and songs of their youth.

I see humans listening to what the birds say, thanking the land for its riches and giving back in joyous ceremony.

I see a land healing in the joy of giving and receiving, growing ever more bountiful and whole from year to year.

And I see a poplar tree in a courtyard, swaying calmly, its heart-shaped, long-stemmed leaves waving at the new-born day.