(Originally published on my Facebook page September 12, 2019.)
I really love turtles. Even when they wander, they are still at home. I need to learn from them.
In one form or another, I’ve spent a lifetime looking for home. I didn’t get to leave my childhood home in the traditional way, it sort of left me. Fortunately, in time I found that literal definition of home again, in place, people and feelings. And there’s no place like it.
It’s the other forms of home that still have me searching. I live in the misty gray tension of belonging everywhere and belonging nowhere. I have a strong sense that the whole Earth is my home and everyone here is my family. It makes no sense to me that those who came before me drew pretend marks on the ground to divide both land and people, and then presume I should feel differently about those on one side of their make-believe line than another. Even those within my arm’s reach get categorized and labeled and sorted like Goodwill donations. And since this whole presumption is so globally held, it leaves me feeling like I don’t belong here at all. What’s a sculptor to do?
When I turn from the physical to the spiritual realm for answers, I fare no better. I have been seeking, finding, and fleeing comfortable spiritual cottages most of my life. The only thing that really feels familiar is the cycle itself. I start to feel restless, my beliefs no longer fit. So back out on the trail I go, looking for the next understanding that feels like home. I have never been satisfied with the spiritual box off the shelf. Instead I have some scars and a backpack full of treasured souvenirs and good questions.
A wise soul once advised me to consider not thinking of my quest as a trail with little huts along the way, but to picture a grassy field where I just sit and wait for home to find me. I’m comfortable with that approach in theory. I currently identify as a renegade Quaker and spiritual pirate, so I’m comfortable waiting in silence. I just have to calm my eagerness and nurture my patience.
Home. Whether it’s a place, or people, or a feeling, we all ache for it. Some call it heaven, the kingdom of God. A carpenter’s son said it’s inside us and around us as much as anywhere else.
At the end of a long day, one tired family member turns to another and says, “Take me home.” I sense that in the asking, they are already there.
Peace and Joy...and Welcome Home,
Jeff
