“Home coming”

H,

Our eyes are always searching for that hint of home in everything. We know we do not belong. We know we must slip out of this mortal coil to finally find this wholeness and that this does not reduce the volume of the darkness in our own ends. Perhaps, it makes it bearable.

I think of those serene moments that populate every single life. That sun rising or setting, that particular person, that place, that piece of music or moving picture, that sermon, that book, that idea, that face and all the billions of other ways life has seemed complete to us, even if only for seconds. The things we go back to again and again, trying to make a home in.

And these things are only a sense of things, not the thing itself. They are all hallmarks or harbingers and not absolute knowing or feeling. There is still a home coming ahead. There is still that light in which this will all make sense. There is still the much more becoming like ourselves ahead.