Today a visit to my grandfather's home after so long being away. Walking onto the porch and greeting him on the porch swing, stepping into the home that I remember visiting so often in childhood. Some things have changed–the extra step into the living room, the chairs in the side room–but somethings are untouched. The trinkets on the wall, the door frames and wall paper, the calm of the place. And having the opportunity to sit and hear his voice, to talk about the idea of "voice," to talk about listening, about different cultures and memories. And I realized that voice is something that can be carried within, that can be remembered. Being home, I'm now hearing voices of my family that I've heard in silence in my time in Japan. They are real, they come from a real place. We live within one another.
My grandfather shared several ways that the things I've shared with him from Japan have been of value to others in his life. Important to realize how our sphere continues beyond ourselves. Something important to remember. We have been with one another, gaining inspiration from one another at such a distance. One wonders if time and space are real and yet the act of physical presence, to hear another's voice fill the air, is indeed such a blessing. But we can carry it, we can live, it lives within us.