Going Home 4: All Flesh Is Grass

The Book of Psalms says that all flesh is grass and that each of us is like a flower in the field that flourishes and dies: “The wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more.” Our feeling that we have a place in the world is a deception we practice on ourselves, because we have none. It is this pretense that makes an otherwise unendurable existence bearable and at times even happy. There is really no place in the world that “knows” us in the Psalmist’s sense. There is only an illusion sustained by others who love us, and who, like us, will soon be gone
But the feeling is so strong the reality does not matter. The illusion of home will overcome even the most grotesque scenes of family dysfunction. We can be battered by a spouse and never want to leave. We can spend our childhood in a household of abuse and fear, but as long as we draw breath our hearts will still want to go home. On this earth our comfort is deception and we can never tell whether we are dreaming, or not