Home

This is not my home, this place that only exists in my memory, this collection of people with some small things in common with me. This world where most people speak a language I am trying to forget and only a handful speaks a tongue which I am interested in learning.

This is not where I belong, this repetition of old wounds, this worn in path around the same old track. This deluded sense of isolation and yet its true we are alone, each and every one of us.

This coat is not my home, just a shape I wear to protect me from feeling and being felt. This learnt garment I can choose to pick up and put on. I used to think it was me, now I know it for what it is, a cloak for hiding under.

Can you see I don't belong if you look in my eyes? My words fail me. I’m losing capability to communicate in banalities, I know it makes me seem strange and disconnected. But I don’t know how to speak my heart in a world where truth is undervalued and reality is avoided at all cost. I clam up and say nothing rather than blundering and spewing out what I really think and feel. 

This is not my home, this mind that becomes inarticulate in its separation from my heart. Home is where the heart is because my heart is the only real home I will ever know, it is the place my soul resides. When I take my seat inside there is safety and warmth, support and compassion, the love of truth is the only language in my heart. Other languages are as a haze of smudged and blurry words that don’t make sense, incoherent.

This is not my home, this fake comfort where we pretend we are fine. Where we don’t say what matters most. My past is not my home, my future either. My upbringing, my social class, my education, my peers, my personal tragedies, my peak experiences, these things make up the hues of my Technicolor coat but they are not me, they do not define me.

I am more than the sum of my years, the collection of minutes and hours. I am breath, heart beating, heart knowing, feeling, moving. Home is this moment, ever changing, this here, this now, this heart aching, this wave right now, you can get on and surf it or miss it. The next surge will happen anyway, is happening anyway, may as well bloody ride it. To be home is to be riding on the crest of that wave, awake, heart and sex and imagination, whole. To be home is to straddle the truth of this moment and let go, letting it take you where it will. 

To be home is to sit right down in the middle of my heart and rest my head there, no running. Letting the rhythm of it's beat and the tides of my inhale and exhale be my rocking chair. Body and mind are comforted in it's embrace. A vibrant stillness that radiates throughout my being, a pulsing aliveness, this is who I am. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home..........