She’s a top, spinning. Wobbling. Better turn her or she might stop. And I know what that feels like. For home to be something earned like a wage at the end of a long day. Grasping, fingers clenching out toward someone else. Someplace else.
But there’s another feeling that’s familiar like a song you’ve heard before but it was when you were just a boy or a girl and it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten the words but the melody also comes from inside you. It’s the song we were born singing, familiar and distant and more close than anything.
It’s the song we were born singing, familiar and distant and more close than anything.
Fingers sticky with honey and clothes muddy from catching frogs in the creek. Sleeping comfy on the bed while resting with angels in dreams. Can you remember? When everything was bright and alive and God was in you and with you like a hand held, soft palms, fingers wrapping? The song you’ve heard before but it was when you were just a boy or a girl and it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten the words, is a song still singing, that home is not something to find, but the quiet, I am present with me, I will not abandon my body or my feelings, I am listening strength in the chest that wills us to rise. To think right. To say no to everything that isn’t mine.
Can you hear? That song you’ve heard before but it was when you were just a boy or a girl and it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten the words but the melody also comes from inside you. It’s the song we were born singing, familiar and distant and more close than anything.