As much as I love traveling (and hate flying), coming back home is what nourishes me. There is no way I can deny or minimize the feeling of reassurance and belonging that sweetly surges and then sweeps me off my feet once I turn the key and step right back into our apartment.
Don't be fooled. It is more than four walls we are talking about here. I am using the term "home" in the title of this post intentionally and fully aware of the bliss that going back to my regular life, routine and rhythm with my three partners in crime - or occasionally without them as you shall see -provides.
Sometimes the return pattern changes. Last time I came back from a short Spanish trip, I was alone. I had two days to myself. I had be to back home, I had no choice but to find my way. I did intend to find it, there was no resistance whatsoever at my end. There are tons of texts and millions of words out there about some "down time"-"me time" - "slow time" and so forth. Without even reading one of them, I know how important they are, those times, because they are rare, precious and constructive in their own way.
These are the times when I let inspiration flow again. This is when silence and the sheer feeling of fluttering ideas coming to life one after the other resurfaces. I listen to myself, in utter selfish abandonment.
I open all the windows, summer is my ally, with its strong light, heavy temperatures and call for the wild currents. Let them all in, draw maybe the white curtain that will dance the whole night away to the sound of the breeze.
Music takes the form of a NuAfro CD: "A selection of new rare tunes with an afro flavor". Its playlist is all about drums and river flowing: sweet and sour, the only kind of tunes I want to listen to nowadays. The kind of music that releases every muscle, lets me drift peacefully on water. The kind of music that makes me want to travel - again!
Unsurprisingly, my hand reaches the nearest octopus candle and its tentacles release the warm scent, the flickering flame that is joyously swaying and telling me "You are back home", feet solidly on the ground.
How would you define your "home"? What are your first gestures once you are back home?
Credits: TheDaydreamer
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