Going Home

When I said I’m coming home 

You laughed, you knew

I was always on my way

I just kept stopping to look around 

To look back

I would forget but not for long 

I only wanted you 

Unending light

The breeze that tickled 

the soft curls around my ear

The smell of earth and flowers 

The simplicity-

Yet the path was winding 

The sun was high 

Ten sticks slung over my shoulder 

Home was too far

much too far to remember

let alone, reach

but this home you said was inside

not inside doorways 

or beyond thresholds

it was also not the heavy shell

of the body, natures machine

filled with chemicals and tissues

laden with response and bias

Nor is it the mind, wherever that is-

this home was a thread 

it ran through all things

has been and is all places

every moment I miss it 

I spend with it

Not knowing any better

it cannot go

no more than I can pretend to leave

-or return

Spirit of Place

I want to go warm places and be wrapped up in the safety of happy thoughts. I’m sure I can do this whenever I close my eyes. You can certainly go anywhere inside your mind. Temples, gardens, mountains, whatever you decide, lately I have been going to a tower.

Its in a castle that overlooks the ocean on one side and the forest on the other. Its far away from civilization, a lone beacon on the coastline of an emerald sea. I can hear the water lap the shore and then pull itself back out again taking the unsteady sand with it in a swift rush. Packing all its feelings back up and leaving only to spill them back out again.

I am solitary like this castle. I stand tall and take the wind and rain. I light my windows in the dark of night and ponder stars that seem to do the same. I fly like a witch around my highest tower and bury my secrets in the garden below. What brick or stone does not know me here? What beam does not support my structure? What flower does not smell like my perfumed hair? What cool smile of mine is not reflected in pond or chalice?