“Home: Thoughts On Belonging” is my book-in-progress, slated for fall release — fingers crossed!
At 25, it seemed my decades were endless. Life stretched out before me like miles cut into a hayfield. The wherewhyhows would chug along in my brain but once I had my eye set on a place in the distance, I was as good as there.
I read recently that the 40s are spinning the straw of the past into gold, if are wise enough to set ourselves to the task. Those fields still stretch — now into eternity, which looks very different from the one I once pictured. This eternity is the journey of my soul, finding home where I land. It isn’t leaving home in the ethers to make my way across Earth, suffering towards enlightenment. It’s home in the body and home after release. Home, everywhere. Otherwise, what’s the point?
I’m trying a new method. I walk around the house saying, I love myself, I love myself. If I start feeling an unpleasant emotion: self-doubt, jealousy, disappointment — I repeat, I love myself, I love myself. If shadowy fears come up about my trip and leaving home, I say, I love myself. It’s all working out. It has always worked out — and then I call upon the dark goddesses The Morrigan to protect me.
Wherever I go, there I am. Wherever home is, I am. Wherever I travel is home and home is when I travel home. Home is a place, a thought, a love that never dies. Home is a journey, a monsoon of memory, the pieces of a lifetime woven into the scarf around my throat that always craves warmth. Home is the rock on which I spend an hour or two, thinking about the home of the body. Even that, someday I will leave.