Pardon the serious tone of this one; I must have been going through something: 

Nothing means more in the end than memories with a friend.

When I first moved away from my parents I felt like I was on top of the world. I was finally free to smoke weed when I wanted, living with musicians, reading anything, saying anything.

The question of home didn’t really come into my mind until fall. I went away to where they were for a while, out west in Victoria. 

Then I came back to Toronto, kept recording, but the question pressed deeper into the winter.

I found myself looking to where my parents had moved as home. But that wasn’t home, I thought… I don’t even live there. 

I poured into the dream of building a home with the girl I was seeing at the time, taking us forward down the path with the desperate hope of “getting there.” 

There were fleeting moments when it actually worked, and I felt at home. With old friends shouting about communism to the treetops.

Recording myself singing freely, with my sisters from The Ancient Youth, and it my brothers each battling demons and bringing glory.

In the small, stoned, esoteric quiet between the scenes of black and white Russian films, 

 during dinners and bike rides where prolonged discussions about where the line between free will is drawn.

But more nights than not I’d fall asleep aching, yearning for a place with no name.

It wasn’t until I was in the depths of Japan that I really grasped the truth of home, as memories of all my friends and family and things that I love, that were foreign there, flew through me like the monkeys in the trees, like the sparrows by the sea, like the wind. 

Home is where the heart is, and that heart is in you.

There is no home for me until I’m at peace with who I am, my mission, my dharma, my past, my  heartbreak,  and my hopes for the future. 

There is no place outside the heart to find the belonging we seek.

That’s what this song is about. I hope it helps you find your home and realize it was there all along.