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There are often thoughts in the night of going home. Thoughts that are unclear of what home is or where. What defines this home? Societies expectations of accumulating belongings and a family? Maybe, it’s a long lost instinct to find a dry cave deep in a wet forest. Surrounded by dancing shadows and strange noises in the night. Unsure of what tomorrow will bring. Will there be food or warmth? Even then there would be a longing for more. A need to escape the loneliness, to share a meal, to have more of what’s not truly needed. It could be a feeling that makes a home? A sense of contentment. An ease of mind. Feeling safe and happy. An environment created by the mind that lacks anxiety, greed, materialism, and jealousy. Is it truly possible or just another wanted possession. Once man roamed the plains of Africa searching and struggling towards more fertile grounds. A struggle to make something out of the earth. It was an idea without a word to name it. Just a quest passed down through generations. The quest to go home.

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