Home Is Where The Heart Lives
When I think of home, I think of a place of nurturing and germination, where my positive attributes were given room to thrive. A place where I learned that I could dream and a place that shaped my dreams. A place where there was always warmth and ringing laughter, and raucous.
When I think of home, I am taken to a memory of a solitary piece of decorative wall art, that presented a sobering reminder that Christ was the head of our home and the unseen guest at every meal, and although I longed to steal things from my sisters’ plate at lunchtime, I was deterred by my fear of being caught by the guest I could not see.
When I think of Home I think of the place where I was taught and learned to clasp my hands in supplication and kneel in reverence to pray.
I remember "Home", as being a representation of many things and in particular a time of childhood exploration and interactions. I can still close my eyes and conjure up a vivid mental picture of spending time idly and relaxing with cousins. We swam for hours in the canals. I remember having access to what seemed like an extension of time that evolved into extremely long days, where the fun was ceaseless, and time stood still, just for us. When I think of home, I think of the times when we walked for miles without growing tired and basked in the sun while allowing the wind to blow softly across our faces. In those days we had not a care in the world and took turns narrating frivolously, amusing tales, not realizing that those were our better days of innocence.
When I think of home, I think of a time of discovery and a place where my desires took shape and directed my hopes, and I could dream and travel to unknown places on the wings of my imagination and I could prepare a special place. A place not fixed in a specific position but marked by a distinguishing feature in my imagination. Where I could reside and preside, and the world was my oyster, and everything was possible, and I enjoyed a lifestyle characterized by leisure.
When I think of home, I remember a space that allowed me to hoard my possessions, and keep safe, the things and thoughts I had stored in my memory palace. Things that could be extracted, when called upon, for the purpose of an intuitive understanding of myself. "Home", remains the alpha of my creative beginnings, and though the reach of those experiences and memories, can never be controlled by a quantifier, the influence has nonetheless left a lasting effect. XOXO