The House of Belonging

DownloadedFileMy House of Belonging  by Barry Whyte

“I awoke this morning in the gold light turning this way and that
thinking for a moment it was one day like any other.
But the veil had gone from my darkened heart and I thought
it must have been the quiet candlelight that filled my room,
it must have been the first easy rhythm with which I breathed myself to sleep,
it must have been the prayer I said speaking to the otherness of the night.
This is the day you realize how easily the thread is broken between this world and the next.
And I found myself sitting up in the quiet pathway of light,
the tawny close grained cedar burning round me like a fire and all the angels of this housely heaven ascending through the first roof of light the sun has made.
This is the bright home in which I live, this is where I ask my friends to come, this is where I want to love all the things it has taken me so long to learn to love.
This is the temple of my adult aloneness and I belong to that aloneness as I belong to my life.
There is no house like the house of belonging.”

Harsh words were spoken, she’s now gone and I’m left in anger and sorrow and angst.  For a daughter who’s left us, soon for good, and a husband who sometimes doesn’t act as he should! It brings me back once again to this place where it’s just me, myself, and I.  Alone, once again in this moment, I can grieve, I can cry out in anguish, and I can sit in peace knowing that this too is sacred.  The pain, the sorrow and my quiet moments bring me to the place where I’m supposed to be.  A knowing that this too is good.  That the wound is where the light comes in and also emerges.  Change can happen.  And though I wish away the sorrow, for the physical ache to subside, I acknowledge that the internal moving of furniture is likely painful….and necessary.  Though this is MY house of belonging, from time to time it feels foreign to me as I bang against furnishings which used to fit.  A spring cleaning in the midst of winter, a reorganizing to help give me a fresh view.  Adjust time worn tables and chairs, throw open the window coverings – a dusting off, tossing out of clutter and a new arrangement.  There IS no house like the house of belonging,  and though that knock on the door sometimes initiates great pain in the re-arranging, I know there is hope.  There is hope in this moment of anguish and stillness because I am no longer sleeping, curtains drawn.


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