Home

In reality, the house was rather small. But it’s enormous in accordance with the memories of my youth as it was the first house I actually remember calling home. Things always seem bigger and grander when the past is taken in by reminiscence under the disguise of myth.

In this home formed my years in Louisianna; it’s not about the square footage or materials on inventory but more about the scope of character. For this structure made of wood and mortar, blood and sweat, hinting of an eternal essence is a gift across time built by labor and love. The very dedicated personalities that toiled in its construction gave a part of themselves to this structures consciousness. What was once formless now has form. What was once a blueprint; an intention, is now a reality.

Physical properties can be renewed, walls can be painted but the essence needs to be open and felt as a warm breeze on a summers day. One can feel the house yawning, stretching its whole being; joints cracking and breathing as the dawn awakens to a new day. It’s been coming alive, waking from a long slumber, lying dormant without human inhabitants for some time, lacking a spiritual bond, as a king without a queen. The connection was sealed with the intention of time and situation. This house was expecting me as I was most assuredly searching for it.

Places we call home can illuminate and reconstruct the recollections of the past as it intermingles with the present and future. The walls, painted or papered are a collection of all that passed before and also a mirror of all that will come to be. Such are memories that embrace the framework as these revelations as well as yearnings; in good time will allow their discovery. This is the soul of what we call home and it melds with our soul. Death and rebirth occur all within the shadow of a memory, as we listen and learn to build the dwelling of a life.

©jc2017-9

*Image courtesy of Pixabay

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Published by

JC

I was officially diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease on October 29, 2012. These are my thoughts on Parkinson's and a variety of subjects.

21 thoughts on “Home”

  1. Thank you for sending my memory back to the house I first remember, and where my first memories were formed. It was my home for many years, though we lived abroad (army) we always came back to it. I remember chickens and pigs, my father climbing down the well and my mother showing me how to enjoy bees buzzing in lavender… thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. When we moved to Phoenix, there were two homes we were torn between. One was in a little better neighborhood and had more square footage, the other was owned by an elderly woman who gardened and had two cats and a dog. We went with the elderly woman’s house, and it was all based on a feeling I had.
    No regrets. It’s home. 😌

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Thank you for your beautiful rendition of your childhood home.
    A house is definitely more than structure , it absorbs the feelings
    of those who live there. It breathes peace and joy or it can have a
    darker aura. All depending on the family that grew there.

    I am sure you carry this house within you as I carry the home I was
    born in and grew up in.
    Bless
    miriam

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wonderful lyrical use of personification here, JC – I love how the house yawns, stretches, breathes! They do indeed acquire a personality and soul through our lives in them and it is this that we recall so well. Lovely to read about the house of your youth…I sense your longing for it and the times there.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. When a house becomes a home, it ceases to be merely a structure. It was lovely to hear you re-discovering your childhood abode through now grown-up eyes. It sounds like love was the foundation of your home. Beautiful expression.

    Clapton’ s “Change the World” has always been one of my favorite songs.

    Liked by 1 person

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