You can't determine exactly what you want, what it is you're searching for yet, you may need to glance in the mirror, or travel far to discover what you are looking for. One day it will make perfect sense to you, and you will say of course, of course, -that's where the fire comes in. The answer is right in front of you, but you can't see it; you have to feel it. Feeling is the beginning of knowing.
Finding my ancestors' village in central Italy was a necessity for me. I was drawn back to where I started. A time traveler, a stranger without the language, lost only temporarily- I wept as I drove towards the village of my great grand-parents. The cracked two-lane road, wound around the green hills. A farmer on his tractor eyed me curiously as I cautiously passed him on the narrow road. The naked soil of his fields was black against the blue spun sky. Large stone blocks held the land from crashing down on to the road. One final turn and into the village I drove, a rooster crowed somewhere down in the valley dotted with olive trees. I spotted an aquamarine lake far below and houses on distant hills. The streets were fairly deserted at midday, old women peeked out of their stone houses. A tray of figs lay drying in the sun. Two men sat on a step near the village wall chatting. Workmen moved about on the roof of the church in the main square. Part of me knew the place, I was not really a stranger, I was one of them. In many ways it was natural for me to be there and I can't fully explain it, except to say that our spirits have long memories. I recognized the home of my people who once roamed the hills with their sheep. The shepherd warriors of these hills gathered long ago to fend off the Romans, to stand and fight for their land.