- D.H. Lawrence
It may sound odd to think of ones home as a primal landscape, but consider how a sense of place develops. Our desire for a place begins with the way home was shaped in our early childhood. As I look at the home I am remodeling, the deep connection to my home of origin in New Orleans, Louisiana is obvious. I have selected a historic neighborhood, in a city built by the Spanish and French, located on a cobble stone street, with wrought iron balcony features, contained in an enclave that offers services for my basic needs.
A few days ago, as I watched the carpenter install the arched antique doors leading to my garden, I had not realized how deeply starved I was for a sense of place. My heart leaped forward as I breathed in the astonishing greeting of welcome those doors offered. Like the rains in a seasonal creek, my tears trembled down my cheeks in an uncontrolled torrent.
I was not exactly surprised by my response, as a few tears leak out each time I have visited my new home. What I was not able to fully comprehend until that moment, was how deeply my entire being had been effected by a vagabond sense of homelessness over the last two years. Even the thought of that moment takes my breath away.
The word trust is a deliberate choice for this post. To get to the point where full stream tears are allowed, I've had to place my vulnerable self into the hands of others. I've been fortunate. There is a great deal of grounding here, right here, in my new sense of place. Beyond the visual cues of connection with my historical home, the generosity of all the new people in my life constructs a wide net where nothing is ever lost. For even when words are lost in translation, our emotional expression is fully experienced.
I am so thankful to all that have brought me home.
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