A man once went to the woods and remained in solitary meditation for four days. He wandered alone till he heard a soft, low sweet voice, singing a song. He listened and watched. He saw a beautiful little flower, swaying gracefully back and forth. He knew the song came from the little flower. Around the flower the ground was swept clean. He listened until he had learned the song.
My home culture is only the tiniest fraction of humanity and we only have a small window of opportunity to experience it.
He says he moves a lot because he is always looking for a better deal, a better space, a better neighborhood. He acknowledges, though, that moving is something of a compulsion, and that after tackling the issue in therapy and connecting his feverish relocating to his moving frequently as a child, he has begun to cut down.