Deconstruction Paralysis

Today I have a longing for home. Precisely, I have a longing for Gypsy Bar. I can see myself on the bar stool. The longing is not of the bar, or of the stool. It is a longing for the familiar (I think)

That bar always had a soothing effect on me. Partly because over the years it became 'my local' -  the place where every body knew my name, knew if any of my friends and people I knew were at the bar. The bouncers would tell any of my friends coming in that I am in the bar and direct them to where I was seated. And when I walked in later than my friends, they would direct me too.

The smell of the main and oldest bar. When smoking was banned inside it there was a dull, nasty, musty and murky smell. The kind that you are sure will stick to your clothes for a long time. A vile smell that signified an accumulation of memories, and the dying of an era. Then they allowed people to smoke inside the bar again and for some reason, there was a revival of life. Almost as if the cigarette smoke was a form or resuscitation. As if, the bar survived on that smoke. I miss the red painted walls. The peculiar wall hangings and paintings. I miss the bar man(men) who always spared a minute to say hallo to me. To ask me how I have been and whether 'Bwana' will be joining me.  I miss my friend M who I would meet there on the odd day. We would talk about every thing and nothing.

I am finding it hard to find that someone with whom I can talk about every thing and nothing. I am missing the habitual entrapment provided by the bar. I say to myself maybe if I stop looking the malaise and sadness will go away.

But I find myself there. Comparing. Substituting. Replacing. Craving. Re-membering. Longing. Missing.

I am engulfed and paralyzed by deconstruction. I think I will need help. I am acutely aware am holding on to what I had and maybe, just maybe, am missing out on the future. To still myself, I commit to a presence in the moment. That too paralyses me. I am on a plateau that goes on for miles all around me. My 'presence to the moment' brings forth an immobility am sure is detrimental. And yet, And maybe that is the source of my malaise today. And yet, I remain immobile.

I have a longing for home today.

I am still (t)here. I have never left. Still.