Inside Outside Page 24
We are essentially rootless. Try as hard as we might, we cannot feel at one with the world in which we live—the only world we know, the only world, indeed, prepared to accept us, even if only provisionally, and on rare occasions with bad grace. For many of us the place where we were born has become more alien and much more perplexing than anything we encounter in our daily existence in the world we must think of as home. We come to understand, therefore, that we belong nowhere—yet sometimes we still dream of an existence where we may avoid the confusions of lives like ours, which seem more and more to resemble the nightmare of that ingenious puzzle, a loop without an inside or an outside.
