It is already 95 degrees F and about 85% humidity. Rain fell just 400 feet from the window where I sit with a cold ice tea.
I just read an article taking readers back in time to the supercontinent Rodinia, then the big (and my favorite) supercontinent Pangea. Then the epoch of volcanoes, and rapidly forward to the apes walking upright on the savannahs.
And I get a feeling that I’m riding a rocking horse through time, whizzing through the birth and growth of this merry-go-round.
I’m like an alien kid, loving the ride, and hugging the realization that we humans are a speck on a golf ball whirling around a lightbulb in a giant arena of wonder.
And I feel fine.
Tonight, live from Taos, it’s blues night on the air. The coyotes add their chorus, the moon sneaks a peek as a curved sliver, and stars twinkle their approval. Streets are quiet and ghosts from muddy plaster slither out to reenact their stories. The mountains hum and golden aspen leaves quake to the slow rhythm and moan of a blues guitar and voice. While the heat recedes and the cool air slides down in its place.
Yeah, this is the place. My place to be.
Urn in shadows and four centuries of adobe.
It was my free choice to release all the stuff and trappings in life and live simply where I want. Poor, yet very happy in the natural world. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
As a Song Dog wails and yips outside
Home is a place that settles the whirling dust inside you in the midst of a sandstorm. That wraps you in tranquility to the point your body and mind expand and relax to the gentle movement of the circling planet. Home melts the walls erected by others and yourself, allowing the exterior place and the interior landscape of your mind to meld and become one. It is where you feel safe even while staring at the mirror of uncertainty. And here you can gather strength while embracing your weaknesses. It is here where our past and future fuse into the present, to be accepted without question, without doubt and without expectations. Here we are as tiny as the molecules clashing and changing inside us, and as large as the timeless mountains and the atmosphere that circles the globe. We are nothing and everything, full and empty, all simultaneously.
Home is where we are what we are. It is just ‘is’.
“You can never go Home again.”
Sometimes places where we plant our heart are lost to us. We plant our feet, hang our hats, and embed our souls in a place. Then sometimes we have to walk away and let it go. But we never do let go completely. Pieces of us remain, parts of our heart or soul may be buried there, and all we take with us are the memories. Yet those buried hearts still beat. And pump that which connected us to those places through our veins. We still carry them with us.
This is the place where part of my heart still lies. Buried now. But still beats quietly. And sometimes I find myself back there in spirit. If not in person. Just like other places before this, and those places that have yet to receive my beating heart. Funny how we scatter ourselves and leave pieces behind.
Morning has broken like the first morning…..
Somewhere, at some time, you might find a glimpse of a fleeting reality where every triviality, all the daily complexities and demands dissipate into the air. The old rocks welcome you and remind you that you are small. Trees and plants of all sizes and colors invite you to look closely, touch and share their space. You can’t see the animals who call this place their home, but their tracks and sign let you know they play hide and seek.
The child inside that we have too often discarded, or buried in our own personal dungeons, surfaces and is delighted. And like a mother wrapping all her children in her big comforting arms, the wild outside us merges with the innocence of our inner child and the cautious adult armor we sometimes bear like a cross.
We become whole.