What if true persons are circles whose centers are nowhere and whose circumferences are everywhere, interpenetrating each other with an intimacy that we can scarcely imagine?  (Beatrice Bruteau)

What does it mean to have a centre that’s nowhere?  I don’t know … but I can feel it.

Who is this I who has no location?

Don’t I need a spot that I can call home?  Or is home anywhere?

Is it that I have no centre or that my centre doesn’t exist in space and time?

I’m getting delightfully confused.  Questions that don’t sound rational.  Questions with no known answers.

I’m wandering through “circles whose centers are nowhere” with no path, no direction.

I’m lost in the words … and falling into “no words”.

And how about having a circumference that’s everywhere?  Beyond my physical view at the moment. 

Perhaps there’s nothing outside of the circle.  I embrace everyone, every thing, every place.

The voice says “Find photos from across the Earth, and out into space.  Feel your home in them all.”

Where am I?

Who am I?

And who is this I?

As for “an intimacy that we can scarcely imagine”, maybe poetry is the best way this can be expressed …

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light
I love thee freely, as men strive for right
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints.  I love thee with the breath
Smiles, tears, of all my life.  And, if God choose
I shall but love thee better after death

Elizabeth Barrett Browning