Place

I will return to this place,
where my spirit rests, this
frame of reference for my soul:
time can make of me
someone else completely, I think,
and I must remember
who I was if I am to correctly see
what this “becoming” thing
is all about. Without
that I see the trail behind me,
how can I know if I’ve gotten anywhere?
Meaning requires history.
And this place is not a place,
but a way of seeing things,
but I think that even every place
that is verily a place can be
a means of seeing oneself:
where are you now?
And you may even ask your own self,
where have you been all my life?
Then, this last one knows you better
than you know yourself:
where are you going to?