At Home in the World

The other day I was at the beach. As I sat in the sand watching the waves, the seagulls, the people, it struck me that the seagulls were the only ones who truly belonged there. The people were out of place.

The seagulls were at home, relaxed. There was a quiet serenity about them.

For the people, the beach was a novelty. They came as recreation. They came for something.

When the birds leave, they will move on. When the people leave, they will look back and reminisce.

Human beings are not at home anywhere in the world. They live so unnaturally that they have become tourists in their own land.

People live calculated lives. There is always something to chase, something to get. There is rarely a sense of contentment or fulfillment.

Of course it need not be so. There can be lasting satisfaction. There can be lasting peace.

Only no one is really searching for those things. They are too interested in happiness and pleasure.

So they approach life not as an inherent part of themselves, but as something to be gamed.

They are forever in search of their next acquisition.

There is no creature on earth quite as unnatural as a human being.

And none more miserable.