I feel at home in my heart.
I feel at home in my breath.
At times, I feel more at home when I don’t understand the language.
When the culture is foreign.
When I don’t know what I’m going to see when I turn the corner.
It makes sense, because home is a construct.
The only constant is change.
Our lives are in flux as we try to grip on… but home is in the release.
In the not knowing.
In the ability to rest in the space of change.
To rest in the liminal.
To rest in your body, always at home.