January 19, 2024- One sang a prayer to the angels. Another mused about her Love of thirty years. The third one sang to a dead friend. The fourth sang to his daughter, who was some distance away. Four musicians, offered the stuff of their hearts, in a round table of harmony.
We are all trying to get home-as *the song by Meg Bohrman so poignantly states. Those of us with home bases are ever looking to be ready for our spiritual Home, when the time comes. Others, whose time here figures to be a lot longer than mine, are also looking for a “forever home”, in which they can raise a family. Still others would just like a home that is not a tent in the woods, or a lean-to, or a cardboard box.
My home is in my heart. So, it feels like home, when I have served well, on a given day. It feels like home, when I have made someone smile. It feels like home, when I have been present for my new Love, and been strong for her, when we connect electronically, even though the physical distance between us is, for now, all too wide. It feels like home, when I reflect that my demons, known only to God, to my departed Angel and to me, have long been cast out. It feels like home, when I know that my little family, extended family and wide circle of friends are safe and well.
Home is in the heart.
A Sagittarian Seeker 
Home really is where the heart is!
LikeLiked by 1 person
All day, every day!
LikeLike
One of my relatives popped up recently. She’s the product of a sad and mad song. She was a person who could have made it. Her mother majored in an advanced physics degree where she could have made tons of money, but she didn’t care. I’ve noticed that many people who have IQs ending up not using their gifts at all. My mom was like, I don’t do anything I don’t have to. Isn’t that smart? My family has been like that for the most part. Minus me with a different father, they have higher IQs but their lives didn’t require it — so they were good at school… it was irrelevant. With my other relative, we both grew up together and shared a place at the Rolla and lake house. The place was gutted the last time we walked through it. We played a little game of kick the ball in the driveways. We thought that the basement was evil and had nightmares about it. Someone committed suicide in the back oak. After my grandma died, I had a dream of him turning white and bursting away.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Amazing story!
LikeLike