|spring, bodypainting art by johannes stotter|
Your feet crunch gravel as you take slow and thoughtful steps along the narrow, meandering path. It’s not the trees concealing what lives just beyond that begs you further, nor is it the sound of the sea, its gentle lapping soothing away the rough edges of your day. No, you are pulled along this path like a magnet to her source, something deep within, begging you near.
When you finally see the house you realize you were holding your breath and you let it out, with a long, heartfelt sigh … of relief. But why? Why are you relieved? You have never been here before.
Or have you?
Did you forget?
You take off your shoes and leave them on the wood planked porch, your toes reveling in their newfound freedom. Then your eyes and your fingers, and that ache within your chest, together they express that magnet-longing again, so you knock, and the door creaks open. “Hello?” you say, “Anybody home?”
But all you hear is the beating of your own heart and the wind through the trees and the gentle lapping of the sea. And yet, you tremble.
Rays of sunlight trickle into the main sitting room, the rest of the house lit with soft warm lights, the kind that remind you of the hue of a candle in a cozy space on a cold winter night. You smile. You let your eyes take in everything else … the rich colors of the walls, the way the couch and the pillows beg to be enjoyed, their fabrics and weaves igniting something secret inside. And then you see the sculptures made of wood and stone and how flowers seem to find themselves in more places than your eyes can even see—in vases, along bookshelves, in front of paintings and hanging from aged wooden beams. You feel your body soften, your shoulders loosen, and your voice oozes out an ‘ahhh’.
Your fingers run themselves along the spines of every book you have ever loved and more that you didn’t know you longed to read, their titles giving you new thoughts, ideas, sparkles inside your chest. Their leather and paper spines feel smooth and kind and take you back to when you weren’t afraid to be vulnerable because you were safe. Safe and happy within your walls.
You lift your head, for your nose breathes in a lovely scent. It’s vaguely familiar but you can’t place it. A perfume? Something baking? Or is it a memory with no form at all? You walk forward, toward it, and just as you do, a figure appears from around the corner, her arms carrying a tray, a tray filled with delights, devourables, delicacies that barely have a name…
You are Home.
* * *
How do you feel when you near the place you live? Does your body harden or does it soften? Do you think of all the things you have forgotten to do, or does your mind release the worries and put on a warm, peaceful shawl? Do you shed or do you pack on … requirements, rules, heavy? When you return to that place you call home, does it really feel like home? Or is it a mere house, a place you just live.
A true home is a place we feel safe. Safe enough to shed our weights and worries, to shed our layers accumulated throughout our days. It is a place of colors and textures and gifts that brighten up our eyes and give new life to our dreams. A true home gives our spirit wings. A house merely contains our body.
My Wish this week for you, is to create, for yourself, a greater, more soulful haven within which to live—to transform house, into Home.
What makes you feel safe?
What encourages you to shed your layers and to reveal your raw Self, your deeper You, your vulnerable You?
No need to think big, begin small. Is it a color, a softness that your fingers love to touch, is it a scent or a sound, or a combination of many? Tune in to your senses—the few, the largely hidden—that whisper you are safe. Go there, walk along that crunch gravel path, let your senses guide your way, your heart acting as your rudder, your soul as your sail.
Listen … listen … listen for the scent of Home.