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animal_quillsHome! sorry if its late/not up to my usual stuff, i haven't written in ages especially since my webbie went down/kaput. I realise its quite more about what *isn't* home than what is, but is suppose what isn't defines something as much as what is
Home
Home means different things to different parts of me, and in different contexts.Most people have a concept of "homeland" or motherland. Nearly thirty/forty years after he left, and despite not having gone back there, my dad still considers jaffna (where he grew up) "home" and since there's a war going on there, will probably end up retireing to india somewhere. Home can be a place, or a memory of it, like Mom still considers the small town she spent maybe 4-5 years of her life, and where her parents were supposed to have retired to running a coffee estate before they were scammed as home.
Well, I've never really liked the place i grew up in,all tall buildings and artfully placed greens that never really felt right. The house i spent most of my life is a 99 year lease, and i'm quite sure at some point in my lifetime it'll get taken over and a soulessly designed standardised 25 story building will be replaced by something tacky and even more souless.I suppose i'm a nomad soul, knowing that home is *somewhere* and figureing that if i wander around enough (well i intend to if i can at least), i'll find a place the human part of me finds comfortable.
The rest of me is a little more certain though. The angelic part of me vaguely remembers a place with people *like* whatever i was, and it seemed kinda medival villageish,though its not quite the 'furniture' that mattered but that people openly and honestly seemed to care for each other, and everyone *knew* everyone else- something i feel that most places i've lived in lack. Home to me is in part not about the concrete, and the mortar, but about people.
The wolf part of me is the only part thats quite sure.Home is probably somewhere northish, with tall fat arrow straight anchient trees, so tall i can't see the tops, and while not dense at all, covered in a mottled layer of green moss.The ground is a mottled mix of green plants, though no obvious grass and white,and soft, and air is cold and sharp,the sorta air thats both alive, and makes you *feel* alive.There's no obvious water features (which bothers me, since if i could get to one, i'd be able to answer quite a few questions, appearancewise). While most of the time i don't see others (wolves) there, their feeling-smell-sense (its a rather clumsy word-complex but it fits best) is there all over, and likewise while its quiet, its also 'noisy' with the sense of life, growth, and all the noises you don't hear, but you quite literally feel.
Home
Home means different things to different parts of me, and in different contexts.Most people have a concept of "homeland" or motherland. Nearly thirty/forty years after he left, and despite not having gone back there, my dad still considers jaffna (where he grew up) "home" and since there's a war going on there, will probably end up retireing to india somewhere. Home can be a place, or a memory of it, like Mom still considers the small town she spent maybe 4-5 years of her life, and where her parents were supposed to have retired to running a coffee estate before they were scammed as home.
Well, I've never really liked the place i grew up in,all tall buildings and artfully placed greens that never really felt right. The house i spent most of my life is a 99 year lease, and i'm quite sure at some point in my lifetime it'll get taken over and a soulessly designed standardised 25 story building will be replaced by something tacky and even more souless.I suppose i'm a nomad soul, knowing that home is *somewhere* and figureing that if i wander around enough (well i intend to if i can at least), i'll find a place the human part of me finds comfortable.
The rest of me is a little more certain though. The angelic part of me vaguely remembers a place with people *like* whatever i was, and it seemed kinda medival villageish,though its not quite the 'furniture' that mattered but that people openly and honestly seemed to care for each other, and everyone *knew* everyone else- something i feel that most places i've lived in lack. Home to me is in part not about the concrete, and the mortar, but about people.
The wolf part of me is the only part thats quite sure.Home is probably somewhere northish, with tall fat arrow straight anchient trees, so tall i can't see the tops, and while not dense at all, covered in a mottled layer of green moss.The ground is a mottled mix of green plants, though no obvious grass and white,and soft, and air is cold and sharp,the sorta air thats both alive, and makes you *feel* alive.There's no obvious water features (which bothers me, since if i could get to one, i'd be able to answer quite a few questions, appearancewise). While most of the time i don't see others (wolves) there, their feeling-smell-sense (its a rather clumsy word-complex but it fits best) is there all over, and likewise while its quiet, its also 'noisy' with the sense of life, growth, and all the noises you don't hear, but you quite literally feel.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-09 11:57 am (UTC)other than that, i seem to have a block on memories/don't remember much else, other than my other spirit guide - who's supposed to be from there(while she'd be willing to help, i wouldn't trust anything i didn't find myself, and we both know that). Meditation dosen't quite work in this context cause there's some other things i'd rather not remember mixed in with the memories