Here’s how I think this is going to work…..actually, no let me back up a moment. Firstly, I would like to say a very heartfelt thanks to all that subscribed and read my first issue. Thank you for the support and loving feedback I received. I am so very grateful and a little taken aback. I am indeed encouraged.
Ok, so this is how I see this little offering. Keep in mind it could very well change, in fact, that is kind of the point here. I will choose a theme each month, something I have been turning over in my mind, I will write a little something, my thoughts on said theme. I will do my best not to ramble. The theme may not hold throughout the issue but I promise to start with the best intentions, that being said this is a notebook so it's likely to veer off course.
The theme this month is Home
The greatest gift I think my Dad gave me was my marching orders. Our troubled relationship finally reached a crescendo in my late teens as he once and for all gave me the shove I needed, and was most certainly asking for, into the big old world.
In the years between then and now home has been many different things. There have been struggles, times when I was younger when "home" was simply one friend or another's couch until that welcome had worn too thin. Chaotic share houses where perhaps paying the rent was a little too far down the list of priorities, far below say weed and concert tickets. I have co-built loving and long lasting homes full of solace and joy. I have found home in relationships, people that I have loved, will always love. I have found home in cities on both hemispheres. home is the place where my books sit by my bed, my favorite incense burns. Home is a place I play Alice Coltrane on the day I move in. Home is my friends, my family and the laughter, joy and tears we have shared.
Some homes last longer than others though all seem ephemeral, destined to be viewed in the rearview mirror at some point. Home stretches out behind me whether I’m leaving, left, or pushed. This has seemed to be my reality for most of my life and for this reason, I have always maintained the ability to pick up and go.A literal and figurative bag ready to pack. Seemingly little to no attachment to the things of life because I have understood for longer than I can remember that the things of life are ever in transition.
Recently, I was sent a quote, I don’t recall who wrote it but what matters is that it wasn’t me. The quote has spent a good amount of time rolling around in my brain.
“ Home is not where you were born, home is where all your attempts to escape cease”.
In my life, and I’m sure I’m not alone here, there have always seemed to be equal parts escaping and searching. escaping places I didn't believe could be my place in the world all the while searching for the greener grass of a “true” home. It’s how I have moved forward, come to live in a country not my own, grown, and been open to new experiences. I have run away from, and I have run towards, to some degree I’m still doing so. Implicit in this way of moving is a kind of grief and constant letting go. However, I have learned through much grief and loss that we do not really let go, of these people, places, and things, these homes in our lives come with us. It is the idea that there is anything at all to escape that must cease. It all belongs.
The greatest lesson in homecoming is one I have come to understand over the last few years through the practice of meditation. It is here, when we return time and time again to the breath that we come home to ourselves, we see clearly that all that we have gathered is still here with us, all these homes. I, in fact, cannot let go, as we are often told to do, of these homes but I can choose to let them be. These moments, these loves, these heartbreaks, joys, and fears are all rooms in this home, how can I escape these, and truly why would I want to when this home is so full of love.
Thank you so much for being here
Big love
John
UNTITLED LA Super Flower Blood Man/moon In totality As I stepped out Of the car The night before Last I sat on the steps Watching awhile As the warm wind Danced Danced around palm trees In silhouette Now up here High Land Park In the trees again I can’t stop Looking out the window at them I’ve become Good and whole again Just sitting Staring Like coming home
CARE PACKAGE FROM HOME I would like the sound Of magpies in the morning The smell of rain On long dry soil Clay Dirt Road Grass I would like the play Of lightning In the darkest of clouds Spread all across the horizon I would like the nervous Busy flit of the wagtail I would like a strangers quiet Nod hello One hand waving Away the flies Maybe a word On rain That may never come Or will be Far too plentiful I would like the sound Of magpies In the morning The smell of sun On wet soil Clay Dirt Road Grass The feel of my feet On that ancient Untamed island Home
THIS On the side walk Someone wrote Make peace with your sadness On the sidewalk someone reached Into my chest Held/wrung My heart till it was Empty again And again
A RETURN I came home To put my feet in the earth To let the ocean Wash away grief To be woken by Kookaburras joy Gentle chuckle Of the magpie I came home to the place My parents lay buried To the place They loved and toiled To stories Over tea With people who have known me Longer Than I have known myself I came home To listen to the wind Move through the gums The dry crackle of leaves Underfoot I came home To be held by this place I tried so hard To run from To let be Let go and embrace Finally Truly I came home
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John, this was exactly what I needed to read as I prepare to move in the next few weeks. Thank you for your eloquence.
beautiful x