Don’t ever think that you are not home. You are home and you always been home because you are the home. This human life of yours to which you think you belong, this apparently vast cosmos in which you think you reside, all this is just the scenery. Your dearest attachments, your identity and personality, too, are in the scenery.
You have accepted too much and assimilated too little. You take from your soul what is concrete, the spirit, and add to the world what is abstract, matter. You steal the reality of your spirit and attribute it to the world. You have drained your own blood to color this world. My friend, you have forgotten the safety code: The traveler doesn’t get attached to the scenery. Shit happens, but what’s it to you?!
You are blinded by the blanket of truth. Fear not the faces and demons pained on the blanket. Fear only your own suffocation. Don’t see the faces; see the blanket. Don’t crawl deeper into your paranoia, just remove the blanket; remove it and see that you too were just a painting on that same blanket. Wake up and see that this reality of yours, your thoughts and memories, your beloved character, this whole universe and its objects, are all drawings on that one blanket. You are that blanket. Don’t confuse yourself with the folds and wrinkles, for the whole of this world is nothing but your folds and wrinkles.
You are home, and you are home alone, for you are already everyone and everything.