going home at nautilus teachings

 

can you go home?
where is home?
how do you define home?
does home even exist?
my plane is landing
this fall near my
hometown
and i
am going home.
driving back
to the pathways
of my youth…
i will weave in
and out
of memories
of the
large park
i used to hide in…
i will stroll
hand in hand
with my d
as i am encompassed
with pain
wonder
shame
and love…
i will have him
take my photograph
in front of my old
house-
the one with the
red wooden steps
i hid under as a child
creating my
imaginary
colorful world
i now share
with the world on canvas…
i will gaze at the
now blue house
which once was gray
and know
this was my home…
it doesn’t look the same
the wrap around front porch
was taken off years ago
the tiny back yard
is now one big ugly cement barn…
but the winding road, leading
back to 2 small houses
and the entry to my hill
the one i used to roll down
until i landed under the
grape vines to hide,
dream or maybe even
munch on a ripe purple gift
is still there…


my lily of the valley are gone
as is my fathers big weeping willow
the lilac bushes are still there
and Lords park
will always hold my secrets…
it was the place my
mother brought me
after i was born.
the white tub
was the one
my parents
gave me ice baths in
to quickly cool
my feverish body
until i was diagnosed
with petit mal epilepsy…
it was the place
i toppled down the steps
each time my brothers
found it humorous to watch…
but there was also
a kitchen
always filled with
yummy baking breads,
cookies, muffins…
a table where i
celebrated my first 11
birthdays
and a huge window
looking out onto
my park-
Lords Park…
so, can you go home?
in many ways
the answer is yes.
i can go back to the exact
location,
turn on the flickering
reel of memories
and let it all encompass me…
is this my home?
no,
but it is where
i first met God,
where i learned
to trust my faith…
it’s also a place filled
with pain, anger
and unanswered prayers..


home,
by definition
is wherever you are
with the ones you love.
some of us shed our homes
like hermit crabs
living almost a gypsy life
in need of constant change,
while others love the routine
the repetitiveness of
knowing what each day holds…
does home exist?
home lives inside
each person.
it is the place
you can breath
feel accepted
cry
hope
dream…
for me
home is the color blue,
my paints and canvases,
it’s where i can hide all my secrets…
home is where beautiful silence exists,
home is knowing there are no more corners
needed to hide in,
home is safe, open free…
over the next few weeks
i will be sharing with you
thoughts of how i found
my home
inside
of
me…
it was only in the going back,
opening up all those closed doors
i locked
and examining thoroughly
what is my purpose
and why am i here…
in a few months,
as i ride from the airport
to my home town
as i drive down streets
i ran, skipped, biked
jump roped and played upon
as my aging eyes
take in the reality surrounding me
while my brain and heart
pump out conflicting images
of what it used to be in the 60’s
i will hold no fear.
i have not been home 10 years.
i still want to knock upon
the door of my old
711 Linden Ave. house of my youth
but i won’t
because inside is not
my home
nothing is the same
accept the walls…
the colors
scents
furniture…
all of it is wrong
and would displace
the very vivid images
i hold so dear…


i do want to see
the closet
underneath the steps
where i built my world
but i know
i should not.
can you go home?
where is home?
how do you define home?
does home even exist?
-i-
am home…
-me-
is where it lives…
and no matter how much
i think going home
visiting old haunts
will heal me
hold me
define me
i know
it cannot
will not and
does not…
there will always
be a disconnect
between memory
and reality…
if you don’t believe this
just watch a group of people-
-any age-
play telephone…
not only does the
original message get
completely messed up
but by the end
everyone always giggles…
this is what life is about
letting some of it just dissolve
and holding tight
that which brings us joy.