Essay

Home is where we make it.

Home is a state of mind.

Home is where the heart is.

Home is where you rest your body, your soul, your mind, your spirit.

Home is the in-between one moment and the next.

There's no place like home (click click click sings the ruby slippers).

What is home for me? Home for me depends upon the moment, my state of mind, my awareness of my place in time, space, and attention. It isn't a place on a map. Home is a moment, a spark of knowing, a flash of understanding, a remembering of my intimate connection to Life Herself. A chill wind on my face, clouds undulating and heaving above, trees growing up and into the earth, leaves churning to the soil, children giggling with mud between their toes, an expectant yellow lab waiting for the ball to be thrown, my partner's fingers laced within my own … and on and on.

Here's the trick of it all, each one of these things depends on something from me. My attention. My moment-to-moment attention is the root of home, just as home can be the root of my attention. I see this as the Yin and Yang dance of awareness. One is leading me to the other.

My moment-to-moment attention is the root of home, just as home can be the root of my attention.

Attention is a double-edged sword unless we divide it into what some call a 1st attention and 2nd attention. What I mean by this is if I simply put my attention into being aware I've lost the timeless moment of Now, of Home. I probably don't even remember I have a body, or I'm breathing. I'm too busy trying to pay attention to be the act of attention. To give this task of noticing to the observer in me, the 2nd attention, so to speak this leaves my 1st attention to simply being present to the moment, to my surroundings, to the pulse, the ebb, and flow, the comings and goings without an attachment to ‘paying attention’. Add to this an awareness of some part of my body, my breath, my feet upon the ground, and the connection becomes complete. I'm home in a very real sense.

What's most true, more often than not, is I simply find tears in my eyes at the beauty around me, the way the squirrels find their way to the bird feeders, a chipmunk hopping in that chipmunk way which never fails to bring joy to my heart and smile to my face. Dew soaked new leaves in spring, shriveled flowers giving their last, patterns in tree bark, unexpected shadows, a child's delighted face, water falling down stone walls, light bouncing off rippling water into the dark of canopied trees. Cloud cover at just the right density to become a giant softbox giving a shadowless glow to everything it touches. Afternoon sun slicing under thick clouds illuminating the far tree-lined shore, reflecting an inverse world upon the water's surface. Writing this, I'm realizing I could go on and on, and really, it comes down to this, the Beauty of Life Herself manifesting in ways I'm still learning to See. This is all home for me.

It comes down to this, the Beauty of Life Herself manifesting in ways I'm still learning to See. This is all home for me.

All this bestows a sense of peace, a sense of home upon me. Want for nothing, nothing lacking. The past led me to this moment's perfection, the future perfect in Its' mystery. Yes, Home.

I'm sitting here beside the lake, the wind blowing in brisk gusts, small waves pattering the rocky shore, tall spring grasses beating against one another in tight bunches, dark overcast sky with darker clouds beneath commuting their water-soaked britches to the next hilltop and down the lake. Upwind, a darker patch bearing my way to pelt my windshield with loving wet. Noticing each of these things, singularly or as a whole and feeling my own Being within it all, I am home.
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