It is the human condition to perpetually be tending towards home
All human beings long to go Home. We have an intuition of some state of ultimate rest, peace, and safety. But we do not know how to find home, nor will we know it if we pass it on the way. We will not know home even while we are living in it at all times and have never, and could never possibly leave.
Everyone feels homesick to one degree or another. An existential homesickness, a loneliness in the marrow of the bones – in the soul.
A deep need for Rest; for a primordial rest. The longing for wholeness,peace, and eternity.
All men and women are Orphans
A dim sense of something lost, something forgotten – something you once had yet can’t remember. It is characteristic of the human life to feel separated from existence, from the beloved, and from ones own self.
The experience of living in the kingdom of heaven from childhood will haunt the intelligent person for the rest of their days. The Prince, once expelled from the Kingdom, will always long for the lost paradise. That is, unless he accepts nothing less than claiming his rightful dominion and through trials and tribulations returns to the Kingdom.
Nostalgia is the language of the soul. It is the way the inner Man communicates to the outer. The yearning of the soul is the magnet drawing us in. It is a form of gravity, and love.
The longing for the womb of the universe. The home we came from before we were born. The infinite wholeness of nothingness.
We are all orphans until we find our father and mother, until we find our home. Not the physical mother and father; we must be reconciled to the Father and the Mother. The creator and the very womb of our existence.
And it is necessary that we leave home so that our homecoming is all the more joyous.
It is necessary that we become separated. For through the anguish of this separation the bliss of union is real.
The leaving and the return, the separation and the union – are all part of the drama, all the story..
The Orphan, innocently seeking a home, any home
The man seeking it in the woman
And the woman in the man
The child in the mother
And the mother in the child
The sounds from the violin, longing for their tension to be resolved
The pilgrim wandering the desert to find the promised land
The mathematician at his board, calculating and seeking the theory of theories. The hope for order in chaos.
The troubadour making his home anywhere he lays his head, longing for rest and fleeing from it all the same
The soldier killing and dying for his motherland
The fish asking for help in finding the sea it has heard so much about
And the eagle longing for the air
The young man returning to his childhood home and finding it changed, or him changed, or the universe rearranged
The shepard seeking out the one sheep gone astray
Dorothy wishing and wishing and wishing….
The prodigal son returns to open arms and a laden table
The philosopher seeking meaning, but finding only alienation and meaninglessness
The hopeless man contemplating suicide
The seasick sailor fated to wander the seas, the only Mother he has ever known and will ever know.
The rocket leaving home fast so as to not be pulled back by gravity
Seeking a new home in the void.
The astronaut gazing back at the fleeting blue orb as he travels ever onward
The babe at it’s mother’s breast
The dying man or child or crone, finding home where there seemed only oblivion
The lover returning, after twenty years’ separation, to his home and food in the same bosom,
The child, deeply and contentedly asleep in her father’s arms
The traveler knowing all will be better when back in his own bed
The seeker, missing because of searching for God, for Home. Yet knowing nothing else to do
The hero entering the house of death and welcoming annihilation, embracing oblivion.
The Universe, ever-expanding outward and onward…
Once we journey to the end of the universe and look under every rock in our search for our Kosmic Home, we may be ready to let grace in. It may be found that everywhere is home, that all of existence is home, that we never left and can never leave this home.
That our very body, and the air, and this simple feeling of being alive is truly home.
Perhaps Home is one’s self. Just the simple sense of your own self, that aliveness, presence, awareness. That which has always been.
That in which there is no east or west,
No here or there
No male or female
No birth or death
No good nor bad
No beginning, no end
For the entire existence is calling, proclaiming, shouting, pleading, begging……
Ye who are weary,