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Softening Home

Sometimes in my home I find myself disjointed and scattered by a feeling of separateness and fear.

Sometimes I see a scolding vision of perfection and orderliness, superimposed over a chaotic, and untidy world, where vitality is strangled by perceptions of what could, should, would be--past and present.

I find myself awaiting a sign of life, evidence that even amid the imperfections inside these walls, life has broken through.

There are hints of it in homemade veggie chili, little-big girls singing at the top of their lungs. Piano keys tinkling bringing lots of laughter and solidarity, torrents of words swimming in the air all the way to outer space.

And yet, this moment starves.

I wish to open up a portal in the middle of my living room floor, and to focus all the energy of the earth, that which gives of life freely. I wish to beckon up into my home vital life-force, and for it to seep up through floors, walls, ceilings, and into every inanimate and then animate object, imbuing vibrancy, richness, and the certain and heart-swelling feeling of home.

I want to feel held, supported, sheltered...welcome.

I want to feel my home exude a deep and precious gratitude for the gift of housing three female musketeers, some days more or less armed, and at times a tomcat and a golden boy. Gratitude because of exactly who we all are, with all the loud, the unclear, the fighting, the hungering, the soft, the loving, the exhausted, the waiting, the hopeful, the stuck.

I wish to draw up from the earth that which would resurrect, flesh out, animate, and permeate through every part of our firmament, until it zings to our senses, until it sinks into body as full belly.

I notice a trapped fly diving repeatedly into the window. My insides pang as I see sunshine patterning the floor through the large bay window. Evidence of my blindness, of the heavy mind-traffic that covers the tenderest intimacies with my surroundings.

I notice that sometimes it feels safer to focus into the traffic, to analyze, to ascertain, to wait for the flow.

Sometimes presence is just too painful, too revealing. I notice I resist to succumbing to feelings of being home, because, ironically, loss of it is the other side of the coin. Better to keep the heart closed, perhaps.

So much noise over the hush of skin. So many layers of protection to shield the heart. An armor I can no longer muster the strength to carry, nor willingly put down.

The whispers of autumn make themselves known in the tiptop leaves bleeding out. Halloween approaches. Echoes of candy sorting on the living room floor, painted faces, unapologetic colors and consuming.

I once wrote a wonderful Halloween scene in a novel trapped in my computer. It involved children, homemade costumes, pumpkin pie and blushing glances of budding love across a bustling table.

More pangs as I am reminded of the sunlight patterning itself through the window of my writings, and how afraid I have been to find home there, you know, alongside the inevitable homesickness.

And yet, all that is left these days, after the crusade has ended, is to dive deeply into the pangs, sitting right there on my very solid living room floor, letting the emptiness and lack of vitality invite me to see proof of life, even in grayscale; to hear any fear which speaks, inviting me to please come home.


Comments

  1. Oh...holy shit. holy, HOLY.

    This is so deeply beautiful it hurts. Seriously, these words, this feeling/energy - reaches right into me and wrings me out.

    So, so hauntingly beautiful, dear friend.

    Please keep writing. For you. For us.

    P.S: I love you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I second everything Julia said!

    You are so incredibly gorgeous. Please continue to write, the world needs to hear your voice dear friend!

    Hugs to you always.

    ReplyDelete
  3. So moving, Brooke! Welcome home and thank you for reminding us what home is.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thank you, dear friends for your comments here. It is always so meaningful to hear from you. You keep me wanting to keep showing up and sharing my heart and soul. Thank you for taking the time to read and connect. Sending love to you, dear ones.

    ReplyDelete

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