Coming back

You think that you won't forget, but you do.

When you are there you feel that the red dust has crept all the way inside of you, that you will never look again at your world of wealth with the same eyes, that your ribcage holds a whole new heart.

You feel that this new music is yours forever, that the drums have found their way inside your bones, that the voices will never stop ringing, that the laughter will continue and you will always see white smiles flashing, that you will be able to bring some of this joy back.

You know that never again will you waste food or water, that a simple thing like a grocery store will always feel like a palace, that you will not forget the bad millet harvest, the fact that the well goes dry for four months a year. You will remember. You will not settle back in.

But you don't. And you do. And quickly wealth is normal again, and you are not sitting under the shade of a tree in a village with red dust and chickens and children all around you. You are not drinking Nescafe, you are speaking English naturally again, and you are forgetting, you are settling, you are giving a cursory nod to the teller at the grocery store rather than shaking his hand and greeting him.

I don't want to forget. I will be taking some time to remember our trip, a little bit here and a lot at LJ Urban, so check back for more. My life takes over at home, and I have things like jet lag and birthday parties and phone bills to deal with, but in every spare moment I am clicking away. I'm birthing some really exciting new ideas, too. I'll let you know when we start posting at LJ Urban.