New York New York...

I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline. Particularly when one can't see the details. Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them. The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What other religion do we need? And then people tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the Hudson, look and kneel. When I see the city from my window - no, I don't feel how small I am - but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body.

-- Ayn Rand

* * *

Dear Readers,

I am about to go on a journey. Not your average holiday, return to Michigan shores, or trip being the Iron Curtain.

No.

This journey is the first step towards a journey of RETURN. A journey home.

For the next four months, I will be based in what many call "the greatest city on earth," The City That Never Sleeps, The Big Apple, The Capital of the World, Gotham, Empire City, The Melting Pot, or sometimes, simply, The City. Yes, dear readers, it is none other than New York.

I am going for a change of scene. I will plant some professional seeds, spread my wings a bit, focus on my super secret writing project (!!!), and return to a few old and very dear friendships that will aid in the nurturing, healing, and flourishing of this slightly depleted soul. Nothing can stop me, I am on my way. Ascension is the only direction in a city like New York, and I intend to ascend in whichever way the universe intends me to.

So. Bring on the Peanut Butter. Bring on the 24 hour diners, the river, the park, a real autumn and winter. Bring on red coats and weekends in Boston. Bring on Thanksgiving. Obama. America. Home.

So much in life doesn't matter. I don't care necessarily what life shall be, nor what it may or may not inflict upon me. I care about what Life IS.

And Life can have it's way with me. It won't break me. Neither you nor me. That determined faith in our own resilience is our only weapon against the cynical, the weak, those who talk of honor but do not practice the word they so loudly and vigorously screech.

Yes. Faith in ourselves; that quiet, steely belief in our capacity to endure and perhaps even thrive in the face of pain. The pain that perfects us, teaches us, heals and sculpts and defines us. Pain is breakthrough, if we have the courage to break through.

In the last 6 months, I have experienced things I have never felt before. Pain I never dreamed I would endure, and yet, I have taken it on with a certain delight. Sometimes one must experience pain past the point of principle on behalf of others. Sometimes our suffering is a matter and ingredient of unassailable personal dignity. the sufferer does not resist/submit/speak/remain silent for others, but for the Self. It is done. Then the Self has earned it's ascension. This power of the Self is the only banner we can hold against all the derailing messages of around us. That's all I need to know about the future.

I am going to New York because I feel a bold step is necessary now. And fortune favors the brave. Here I go. I promise to write.

"I took the tube over to Camden
To wander around
I bought some funky records
With that old Motown sound
And I miss you like my left arm
That's been lost in a war
Today I dream of home and not of London anymore..."

-- The Waifs, from "London Still"