Home

Some twenty years ago or so when my babies were really babies, I volunteered at a Rescue Mission.   Several of the volunteers in the mission thrift store where I was usually stationed, were also residents of the shelter. Some folks were there every couple of weeks for a day or two and some were just passing through - but others were more long-term and consistent residents of the mission's residential program.  One stoop shouldered, gray haired man in particular had a reputation for being a little left of normal- as in crazy and unpredictable, We called him "Mr. C'.  The other volunteers avoided Mr. C because he loved to talk but often his words were little more than incoherent syllables or incomplete sentences. You couldn't avoid him nor could you predict what he would say or do and most of the volunteers were afraid of his unpredictability!  I wasn't sure why he was at the Mission or what his story was, but sometimes his words were wise and profound. It was obvious at some time in his life Mr C had been an educated man and I felt sorry for him, this strange little fellow with the mismatched clothes and ill fitted shoes.
One day  as I was volunteering he came in the front door - looked left and right and then made a bee line - straight in my direction.  It was as if he had me in his field of vision and he crossed the creaky wooden floor in his worn out shoes with purpose- stopping directly across from me.  Without greeting but looking me squarely in the eye Mr. C simply blurted out "Words are containers. They always contain meaning".
That was it. End of message. Just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned and shuffled away.

"Words are containers" I have digested those words for these many years and I think I have finally understood what Mr. C was trying to say.

Words are containers like Tupperware bowls or pickle jars- and they always contain, carry, deliver something.   If words are containers- and I believe they are- then every time we speak or write- we deliver something. That's why choosing the right words are so important and so  achingly critical.
As a writer I agonize over every. single. word. I want to be completely certain that anyone who hears or reads my assorted blatherings - receives just the message I intended. Being misunderstood is one of my biggest fears and I feel responsible if /when misunderstandings happen,  the "I shoulda-coulda-woulda-said-it-like-this" kind of thinking torments me to the core.
So where is all of this leading? What does Mr C and his old shoes and bizarre behavior have to do with me today? And more importantly you my friend and reader? It's all about our words and the importance of using them correctly, of understanding them succinctly and how using them or not understanding them can cause havoc in our psyches! I started this post with a particular word in mind "HOME"..a small word with an enormous meaning. Let me see if I can put this all together...

It's been 2 months since we left Florida and the place that Steve and I called home. That place is very far away now- in miles as well as time.  I have alternated between euphoric wanderlust and petrifying fear of the thought of being home-less. It's been a roller coaster of emotions and I can't say it's been entirely painless, it wasn't. It's been scary as hell and I have spent much time praying & meditating to find peace of some sort to soothe me. I'm making progress.
HOME I am learning, isn't a place. It's a feeling and we carry it inside of us.  HOME is our refuge, a sanctuary, that place where we feel loved and safe and accepted. Did you get that? Home is a feeling of unconditional love-acceptance-safety. Your address- that building where you store your stuff and park your car might be the most beautiful place on earth but if you are not with people you love and people who love you- you might as well be in a box under a bridge.

Home you can argue IS a place- and well yes maybe so but it's a place without a mailbox or an address or garden gnomes.  It's not a place that the mortgage company or the realtor sells you. Home can't be purchased with money or good credit and can never- not ever - be taken from you- not even in foreclosure! Home is a place inside of us.

To be 'home-less' then means to be untethered, disconnected from everyone around you. Homelessness is a condition of the soul, of the heart, of the spirit. It's not being without a roof or garden gnome but rather it's being without refuge or safety or unconditional love.
So let me put the lid on my pickle jar - I mean my words - and sum it up by saying this...
just as the outer physical brick and mortar buildings are NOT the CHURCH or just as the WHITE HOUSE is NOT the Government...neither is your address your true HOME.
That place, your place, your HOME- lies somewhere inside you- its someplace you carry with you wherever you wander and some place where at any moment you can stop and smile and cherish the faces and voices and memories that occupy your heart, your home, your sanctuary.



Namaste' my friends. Peace for every step of your journey.