All beings long for home, that timeless place of deep rest, that place of eternal freedom from uncomfortable thoughts and feelings.
But our search for home turns us inside-out and back-to-front.
For we are the home that we seek, and those seemingly troublesome thoughts and feelings.
The ones we have been resisting our whole lives are not actually enemies or imperfections to be annihilated or rejected,
they are our very own children,
children of consciousness,
kindred waves in the vast ocean that we are,
homeless and hungry and neglected.
They have only ever been seeking a home in us, a place where they could rest deeply without fear of being denied or pushed away.
Who will remember them?
In seeking our true home outside of this present moment, we deny the present moment its true home. And this is the beginning of all our suffering and stress and longing for more.
In recognising ourselves as the home we have always sought, in remembering who we really are, finally all of those poor little orphan thoughts,
sensations,
sounds and feelings are allowed to come to rest in us,
to move and express without fear or judgement,
deeply accepted before we even try to accept them.
We don't reach home,
we don't find home,
we don't even come home,
we are already Home,
and always have been,
and all things come to rest in the vast home that we are,
for the children are suffering from an ancient tiredness after their long journey,
and they only come to warm their toes beside our ever-present hearth.
Home is another word for never turning away.
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