No place like home

In my last dream before waking, I caught sight of my mother -- deceased these last 15 years -- and was astonished by the wave of delight I felt; by the joy of holding her in my arms again after so many years.

Sitting in meditation after my coffee, I found my mind kept sifting through the images from Fort Worth, wondering which to write about and what to say; whether or not to address the oddness of that ancient sense of connection. The results were inconclusive -- if only because I kept endeavoring to return to that blessed emptiness at the center of being -- but then I rose to return my empty coffee cup to the sink, and this is what I saw.

So of course I grabbed my camera and stepped out onto the front porch, but in the end this was the best view, shot standing beside the kitchen sink. And as I stood there looking out, I could hear my inner Dorothy clicking her sparkly red shoes together and chanting, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home." Whatever home was not, in those difficult years growing up, home certainly is now: a haven, the place of peace and quiet acceptance for which I always longed.

-- which makes me think of Anne Lamott's recent post on Facebook, which I loved:

"This will be my body the whole time I am here! This one! Yikes, how awful. No, wait wait, this exact one, that is STILL HERE, against all odds. Thank you thank you thank you God. We have lost so many precious friends who would have done anything do have some more time in this joint, with our Mother outdoors, with those they love most. Anything! So that is how I am going to spend today, pretty much-sort of more-or-less believing that this is it. This body, this biography, this exact family, this everything. And it is wonderfully made, of love and energy, for love and energy, for giving, forgiving, for--as William Blake said--learning to endure the beams of love. And joy will always be the best make up."