Moving
Do gypsies crave home? I sit among cardboard boxes, open cupboards, and with a sigh of regret in my heart as I leave this place I have called home for most of my life. Fitting it should end with the lunar eclipse. Mourning has accompanied the shoveling of life into boxes and bags. My cats, aware of my mood, stay close and guard me as I deconstruct our universe. We're all very attached to this home.
I love how the stories in the Bible start with movement. Abraham is told to get his butt out of town to a place he can't even point to on a map. Moses leads God's people back to said location. Jesus is born on the move, in a city he will never call his hometown. I wonder if there was mourning involved in Joseph's sudden relocation or Ruth's move to Bethlehem. Taught to think of them as heroes, sometimes I miss the humanity in these stories.
Did their hearts break at having to leave at just the wrong time? Did they question what on earth God in heaven was thinking? Did they go into an even worse situation thinking, "That's it. We're done for?"
Moving, adventure, the next chapter does not always begin with a joyful departure. Sometimes the well dries up and the only option is to go where there is food. Sometimes, your family sales you (and it still happens today- look up human trafficking if you don't believe me), and you're left to deal with the struggle of figuring it out on your own. And yes, sometimes, you hear the call of the Divine, the universe, or fate-whatever you wish to call it- and the only option is to follow the inner urging.
For me, this move is about the well going dry. I search for water and a place to land at the same time. Community and belonging have eluded me. Yet I hope to find them someday, to push roots down deep into the earth and be a place of strength and hope for those around me while drawing on their ecosystem of friendship and nourishment. We do not live in a void, dear ones. Each of us belongs to the other and all of us must be healthy for one of us to do so. So I search for home realizing it won't be perfect, but it will be good.
Until then, the cats and I will be packing and unpacking boxes. We are at home with each other, and I am thankful that animals exist. Sometimes home is with others of a different race, creed, or species altogether. That's what makes it a thriving ecosystem. May yours thrive tonight and always.
I love how the stories in the Bible start with movement. Abraham is told to get his butt out of town to a place he can't even point to on a map. Moses leads God's people back to said location. Jesus is born on the move, in a city he will never call his hometown. I wonder if there was mourning involved in Joseph's sudden relocation or Ruth's move to Bethlehem. Taught to think of them as heroes, sometimes I miss the humanity in these stories.
Did their hearts break at having to leave at just the wrong time? Did they question what on earth God in heaven was thinking? Did they go into an even worse situation thinking, "That's it. We're done for?"
Moving, adventure, the next chapter does not always begin with a joyful departure. Sometimes the well dries up and the only option is to go where there is food. Sometimes, your family sales you (and it still happens today- look up human trafficking if you don't believe me), and you're left to deal with the struggle of figuring it out on your own. And yes, sometimes, you hear the call of the Divine, the universe, or fate-whatever you wish to call it- and the only option is to follow the inner urging.
For me, this move is about the well going dry. I search for water and a place to land at the same time. Community and belonging have eluded me. Yet I hope to find them someday, to push roots down deep into the earth and be a place of strength and hope for those around me while drawing on their ecosystem of friendship and nourishment. We do not live in a void, dear ones. Each of us belongs to the other and all of us must be healthy for one of us to do so. So I search for home realizing it won't be perfect, but it will be good.
Until then, the cats and I will be packing and unpacking boxes. We are at home with each other, and I am thankful that animals exist. Sometimes home is with others of a different race, creed, or species altogether. That's what makes it a thriving ecosystem. May yours thrive tonight and always.
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