Deep in the heart of every human being beats a primordial memory of the jungle everlasting; an ancient link to our tree-living past. Ever since I can remember, I have loved trees: drawing them, painting them, photographing them, even using an image of a tree through four seasons to decorate the top of one of my earliest resumes.
As we descended from our arboreal homes in search of food and water, the distance between the ocean and the trees of the savanna that we called home grew and grew, as did our brains fueled by the richness of the sea and the creatures we eat. We responded to the growing grasslands by stretching our legs to cover the distance, but memories of our forest home continue to pervade our collective human consciousness.
Escapist fantasies about leaving the world behind suddenly become more acute in times of great stress, like during presidential elections with transitional governments, forcing us to confront our need to flee. For me, the forest represents something more than a relaxing place to unwind from busy careers and ringing cell phones. It is the place I feel most at home, and with the beat of the boreal so dear to my heart, it's no wonder that I want to be where the wild things are. You can't chain down what's meant to be free.
It is in this hope that I look forward to a more understanding future that recognizes the human condition as it pre-dates modern borders, with boundaries drawn by outside interests not native to the land we call "home". Let us be who we are. Let's go home. And let us be dual citizens of the world as it is written in so much bureaucratic paperwork, if that's what it takes for us to move about as we're meant to. I promise you I won't be a bother. You won't be able to find me in the forest primeval without a professional guide, anyway.
