Soul’s invisible, a bit unknown, a little tragic
On a lonely boat, where the longing never ends
Here, then we’re gone, we can’t do this alone
Carrying on, we’re still looking for that feeling of home
The “feeling of home” has been much on my mind, as Lisa and I reimagine together the blue-house-with-the-red-roof to be ours, an exercise in crafting a feeling as much as it is about organizing, painting and rearranging. It’s big, making space—physical, emotional, spiritual—in this house that has been home, in one guise, to me for so long (as long as I can remember living somewhere).
It is a welcoming embrace to Lisa and L., a finding of nooks where stillness can be found, a stanching of the uproot, all of that.
But it’s also about giving myself permission to find hope, future, joy, in a space that was, for so many years, a place of vigilance, expectation, unease, fear, grief.
It is welcoming myself home too.
We get tied in knots, and we try so hard
And it takes everything that we got
And it can breaks our hearts