Home

(2/8/22)

Home is where you fall asleep on the couch - vulnerable, trusting, relaxed and comfortable.
Home is where you let loose. You are unknown and choose to let go. Like, dancing at a club.

Home is being fully accepted, celebrated even, for your idiosyncrasies. Absent the need to persuade or defend, without anything left to do, you are at home.

Home is with whom you can share the unshareable and find kinship.
Home is silence. Unspoken understanding. Where words are absent and superfluous.

Home is where you walk the streets and feel like a thread in the fabric of the place. Unable to explain it, you just know you belong.

Home is what you do everyday - your craft, your practice, the work familiar to you. A devotion, dedication. You and your work shaping each other.

Home is a scent that soothes, enlivens, transports you, and gently sinks your feet into the ground. An arrival, a welcoming, a settling.

Home is music that compels you to surrender. Surroundings become irrelevant, allowing your true, unabashed self to appear.

Maybe “home” is a moment more than a place,
A “when” more than a “where.”
Temporary and unfixed.

An untouchable, effervescent, ephemeral feeling.
We know it, when we experience it.

And maybe, we are meant to search for home.
Again and again, as our lives change with time.

Maybe, home is when the right people come together in the right place, at the right time,
An experience unlike any other we wish was infinite.

Maybe home is that spot, under a tree, where you sit with your dog,
Maybe home is hearing the song of birds,
Maybe home is a memory that lives eternally within.