Yesterday’s homecoming was bittersweet. On the one hand, it was wonderful to get back. On the other, I wondered whether being in my own four walls again meant returning to the same sense of stuckness I couldn’t seem to shake before I left.
Not a good feeling, to say the least.
Thankfully, a wise friend reminded me that it’s all about how I choose to look at it. That helped me get some quick perspective. After taking a much needed nap and stepping outside to walk Clifford, crisp Maine air, tall trees, a nearly full moon and twinkling stars greeted me. It was as if all those elements breathed together, right into me, right there in the driveway. Welcome home, they said.
With tremendous gratitude, I opened my arms wide, tilted my head back and received the beautiful offering.
Today I realized that the key to being here is not to be here. That is, to think of my apartment as base camp and get out much more than I used to -- to explore, write and be in ways that both gather fodder for this blog and fit the new sense of freedom gained from the past few weeks.
In other words, to really live. Simply getting by and existing lead to the proverbial pit where hope and faith tend to wither as depression and despair vie for position in the mind and heart.
It’s high time for living, isn’t it?
I don’t know about you, but I have just one answer to that question.
Amen.
"Are we really home?"
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