Thursday, 17 April 2014
Yesterday we had a busy family party, didn't write a single word, but vowed to do so today. The one word prompt is Home. Join the challenge here, not too late!
What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?
I wrote the response to this prompt in my journal to see if my thoughts would be more orderly when it came to sharing my response. I've never tried that before, normally choosing to write straight off the cuff. We'll see what happens.
The first place to come to mind is where I live. Apart from that, the concept of home is fluid, changeable, dependent on circumstances. It can be a physical place where I have my stuff, England if I'm abroad, talking about where I live and where my friends are, Iceland if I'm speaking to Icelandic relatives, originating from the almost inbuilt solidarity with the people of my nation, that Iceland will always be "home" wherever we end up. I'm trying to wean myself off that now, as I no longer see it as true.
My own bed represents home, wherever that is, where I pay rent. The place I spend most of my time. Where I'm comfortable without make up, in pyjamas, with my bed head hair.
Home is also where I long to be, created and loved by my hands, where I long to become a mother, a partner to a significant other who shares my wildest dreams, someone that knows me intimately, someone I can talk to for hours and be silly with, or serious with, go on adventures with, someone that makes me feel safe. A person that encourages me to be the best version of myself, encourages me to take risks, instead of playing safe. Someone for which I can reciprocate the above. An even deeper longing for my own family, an education of my choosing, teaching both practical and intellectual skills, bringing up well-rounded and confident individuals.
Home is also my own body, the cliche that says "home is where the heart is", is true in a different way, home is within my body. I come home to myself through meditation, mindfulness, quiet journalling time, time alone in quiet when the world becomes too much to handle. A sense of space, coming home to my own mind, my authentic self, but also home to my body. I do a body scan each night, as a way to fall asleep, leaving the realm of thought behind and returning to the sensations within my body, sinking into the bed, breathing.
As a nomadic soul, home can be anywhere. As long as there is something familiar - a person, a favourite stuffed toy, a journal and my favourite pen, a comfortable place to sleep at the end of the day. A hammock, a tent, a log cabin, a hotel, a sofa.
Home in the "external" sense is changeable, fluid and impermanent. But there will always be a home wherever I am. This is the real home that will never disappear as long as I'm breathing.