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May 24, 2007
When I think of home I think of Vegas. The smell of the desert in the early morning lingers with me. Sandman doesn’t slip in while you’re sleeping and diminish warm comfort. I think of early morning when I think of home, regardless of location. I love the solitude and dark quietness, witnessing the sun rising, materializing the world. It seems natural in the wee hours of the morn to reside beyond the physical; sit without judgment and wait, to be in the still perfection of being. Yes, for me, home is the mind alive now. While you were sleeping.