...where is home?

How can you possibly feel homesick at home? I really wish I could answer this question. Perhaps you have never felt this. If the idea seems foreign, hopefully you will never know it. I have felt this irksome revelation. As far as I can tell, there is no place I should be longing for. I've been in the same house for a number of years now, and the place from which we moved held no special value for me. In fact, I was rather glad to leave. So I am left wondering, essentially, where is home. For, as you probably know, a house you live in is not necessarily home.

 *** 

Once I had a dream: 

I was walking down a beautiful tree-lined street in a quaint suburb. A cool spring sun filtered through the trees. Their green leaves motioned silently, longingly, towards me. I drew a deep breath and felt as though the gates of heaven had finally opened. The air was cool, however lacking the sting of chill. The death of winter was over and the world had started anew, in full Persephonian grandeur. Everything had a place, everyone belonged, and my brain began to clear. Birds sang their sweet arias, praising all living things. Various woodland creatures chattered about the regal oaks and ancient maples collecting nuts and whatever else woodland creatures collect.

Hands in pockets, I managed down the sidewalk, making sure I didn't trip on the uneven blocks of concrete. I closely regarded the disproportionate plane on which I strolled. Looking down, I noticed cracks and splits interspersed on the pale gray surface. In certain areas, a light cover of dust allowed the cold ashen pavement a pinch of blush. Tiny ants curled their way around the cliffs of opposing blocks. Occasionally I would wander past a somewhat neglected yard. Its shaggy grass would scream for attention by hiding the edge of the sidewalk under its deep green tapestry. I marveled at how such an obviously imperfect object could seem so exquisite.

The houses refused to crowd the street. They sat back on their steady haunches, peering down on their front lawns. Most of the houses I passed by seemed to be of a Victorian style. I assumed their patience and majesty came from perhaps hundreds of years of enjoying existence, swallowing demands, and accepting the inevitable. All of these houses had different cosmetic attributes, however, they did share in something very special. This commonality was a certain feeling of belonging; restfulness as a result of acceptance.

I caught a whiff of serenity on the wings of eagles who'd broken from cuffs of tarnished silver.

My attention to detail of the surroundings gradually diminished only to be replaced by a greater awareness of the world in which I momentarily dwelt.

In the sky hovered puffy white clouds. They looked perhaps of cotton, but more likely were made of hopes but not dreams. Dreams make even the most dire hope less pure. The earth often found itself hidden from the sun by clouds, but just for a minute. There is only so much that even clouds can devour. I looked down the corridor of pavement as a darkness rolled towards me. I quickly closed my eyes so as not to ruin the view inside my head; only a second of darkness can ruin a lifetime of beauty. The wind that blew with the cloud-cover stirred up dust and leaves. I could smell wood burning in the distance. The environment left me. I saw no clouds or darkness. There was no sun or street. The houses, along with everything else, were pushed to the back of dawn as if some magnificent rock musician or possibly a young lion had lowered the house lights.

 I saw a child sitting a distance away. I assumed the distance was short, for I was upon her quickly. Little struck me about her physically other than wet, blue eyes. Without direct explanation, I felt intense pity for the tiny jeweled moon. Reaching down and taking her into my arms, the beautiful expression whimpered unintelligibly. Perhaps lost, I ventured to guess. Beginning to walk, the nondescript wandered past me. I called out for the child's mother but no being returned my worry. I walked on to the end of the canvas leaving behind me only tears of hopeless finality.

 *** 

Look around you. Can you breathe in the thick air of a home? Does everything seem warm in some way or another? Does sound travel more slowly? Is it hard to break a heart or crush a soul? Do the familiar creatures know their habitat? Is rain welcome? 

Don't let the burdens of your dreams carry you to a place where you'll never get home. 

Quotations of random and questionable relevance!

 

Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

-Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.,
"Homesick in Heaven"

A man builds a fine house; and now he has a master,
and a task for life: he is to furnish, watch, show it, and
keep it in repair, the rest of his days.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Society and Solitude

Before I sink
Into the big sleep,
I want to hear
the scream
of the butterfly.

-Jim Morrison
"When the Music's Over"

The program for this evening is not new,
You've seen this entertainment through and through.
You've seen your birth, your life and death,
You might recall all of the rest.
Did you have a good world when you died?
Enough to base a movie on?

-James Douglas Morrison
"The Movie"

 

 

Perhaps we're all just wanting to run off to Africa in a cloud of deceit.
And crash down upon ourselves like the elders did so long ago.
Then we'll see who lights the way to the moon,
Opposition of the humble detriment that burns our eyes.
Walk the rope of discovery and find infinite paths.