Constantly haunted by thoughts of Belgrade, Skopje, the mountains of Bulgaria. These are not entirely adventitious plans and thoughts. My own country is veering too far away from anything I can recognize as good, both in its larger acts and in the commonplace interactions with the people here. There is a seamless link between the sort of sensibility that did in my family, and the corruption that I encountered at the state universities, and the stories in the newspapers, and the craven people I walk past every day. There's no longer a sense that one should try to be good, or pursue inherently worthwhile things. All is craven imitation and competition, and the pursuit of money. Omnis homo mendax, as the Psalmist has it.
Southern Europe is the one bit of Europe I could afford, on an absolute baseline income, and there is theatre and music, and I can get the texts I need electronically. So there is a path, and I shouldn't fault my own mind for ceaselessly glancing towards it.
Difficulties, yes, but with the barrier of an iconostasis comes the possibility of the holy doors.