If someone asked you to describe home how would you answer? Would you answer by offering a detailed description of the rooms in your house – the kind and color of furniture in your living room? the height of your ceilings and the overall square footage? the colors of the walls and type of floor in your kitchen? the size and shape of your yards or of your apartment?
You might answer in this way but is this truly home? What is home? Where is home?
I’ve given this idea of home much thought since I’ve been living homeless. It’s funny because I don’t think of myself as homeless at all.
To illustrate, this past weekend I was on the Oregon Coast to where Caroline moved with our 2 sons, Solomon and Salvador. We were driving in the car and Solomon was asking me about my going back to Redding and how he wanted me to stay in Oregon with them. I answered him by saying,
Papa, my home is with you and Salvador. No matter where I am in this universe I will always be with you and Salvador. My heart and my spirit and my thoughts are always with you and Salvador and always will be. You and your brother are in my dreams, in my soul and in my heart. And home is where the heart is.
Solomon said nothing. He understands perfectly.
In that moment I distinguished home from residence. Where I reside is not home. Where my heart resides is.
So when I think of home, if I were asked to describe home, I might answer with the following:
Home is talking about dragons and dreams with Solomon and Salvador.
Home is passing the hours with a good book.
Home is thought-provoking conversations with deep souls who offer me an alternate view I never previously considered.
Home is laughing so hard with Caroline that my stomach hurts.
Home is being wrapped up in Caroline’s body (seems I’ve been homeless for years!).
Home is reconciling after an emotional tirade with Michael Leazer, forgiving and being forgiven, followed by I love you, Michael. I love you, Sariyd.
Home is talking to my best friend among Humans, Abdullah Frazier, as if the years and distance that separate us had never been.
Home is the feeling I get when I think of Michael Von Kickebush and the entire Von Kickebush family – Judith, John, Sarah, and Angie.
Home is fellowship with true brethren of the heart and soul.
Home is hearing my mother laugh.
Home is sharing with my father my differing views on spiritual matters….and being heard.
Home is reminiscing with old friends and family.
Home is writing these blog posts, baring my soul with the faith that another soul might by inspired to come out of hiding in the shadows and stepping into the glorious sunshine of self-acceptance and liberation of soul and seeing.
Home is eating a delicious, sweet mango.
Home is taking a quick dip in the river after lying naked in the 100 degree sun.
Home is hearing children play and laugh, sisters sharing secrets, and brothers expounding on ideas.
Home is tears and laughter, uplifting stories and inspiring quotes, a sentence perfectly worded, and a moment perfectly captured in imagery.
Home is listening to Sade, Bob Marley, and Malcolm X.
Home is dancing to deep house music and attending a cool house party.
Home is where the heart is.