homecoming : the act of returning to your home or to a place that is like your home, as defined by Merriam-Webster.
Sharon Salzburg says that one of the most important parts of meditation lies in the return. The coming back, no matter what. The practice, no matter what. A homing that comes from a consistent dedication to invite a state of being, a place of listening, and a space where the mind can sit back and the body can reset. With this continual return to self what becomes is a greater capacity to accept what shows up. This daily practice sets me up as a witness, all-seeing, to where I am raw and where I am powerful; where there are shadows and where there is light; what feels blocked and where there is ease. When I return within both my joy and fear can merge, dissolving thick judgement, and create an opportunity to listen to what is...
A few weeks ago we put an offer on a house. It was accepted and as we were committing ourselves to almost always sunshine I worried that my need for contrast (see blog post The List of Missings) might seed regret or fear into the foundation of our next home. In this space of unease there existed a longing to touch the familiar, the what was, that coincided with an intention to root to an endless summer paradise where contrasts are almost too subtle to newcomers like me. Call me crazy, but I followed my desire (with my hubby's encouragement) to feel the Northeast's bitter chill and touch what had been home for so many years. In the midst of my visit, I saw family, a few friends, and cleared out our storage. I got to experience the first cold snap of 2021, feeling the frigid air and falling snowflakes on my nose, toes and fingers while I purged and packed our boxes and furniture for the 3rd time in less than a year. I loaded all of the "keepers" onto our second 20' container which was then trucked down to a freighter in Newark, NJ and sets sail for St. Thomas, VI, via Puerto Rico, this week. (Dave says that I can now consider myself a freight forwarder- I've got the documents to prove it. And I couldn't have done it without the help of my small crew of movers and shakers. If I could tag you all here, I would. )
In this brief return to what was home, I faced the missings and restored myself with the things I cannot access in the tropics. Cold wind, ice capped salt marshes, shearling boots, french onion soup, frosty breath, old friends... As my bones chilled and chapped hands bled, there was a shift in my stirred up home-owning doubt. The re-visiting and the purging opened up something. As I excavated memories of time past, literally throwing photos into garbage bags, I found myself in the return. This return to editing and discerning my family's needs in a new climate, where less is more and one is constantly reminded of our earth's limited resources, forced me to realize what was causing my unease- RESISTANCE. I could feel my heart go heavy in what lay before me- lots of change, the unknown, and the letting go. Holding the kids' pre-k crafts in my hands and counting the mounting boxes of already approved "to be shipped" items, I came to understand that this physical return allowed for the mindful return. And as my heart got heavy, the truth showed itself... we've already moved, there is no "right" or "wrong" answer, and grief is allowed. YES to all of it. That's what meets me in this returning or, rather, homecoming. Here I was, at a storage unit in Connecticut between homes as I cleared a slate of memorabilia and maybe misgivings. And if I could allow all of the above and just sit, not try to fix my concerns, my heart may know more peace.
And this was my a-ha moment, the threading of one practice that opens me up to more, be it trust, acceptance, or compassion. When I go inward and sit with my self, I return home. Grieving, imagining, nurturing, advocating, creating, listening, laughing, noticing... all comes from simply being in my heart. In this little vast space within, there lies a slow curation of being and listening to what is here and now. I am always home, and even if things mount and wobble, I know where to return.
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