As I prepare for the first of several trips I will be making in the next few months, I feel a great appreciation both of my love of travel and my love of home. While I would not say that I have traveled extensively in my lifetime I have been blessed to see much of this country and experience the uniqueness of many locales and peoples. In the next few trips I will be on the shores of the Pacific, in the mountains of Oregon, in the flatlands of Ohio, in the river region of Maryland, and in the busy streets of Manhattan. I will engage both my passionate working expression and my playful childlike adventurer. I will excitedly enter and exit the gates of Palm Beach International, knowing that at both ends I am sent off and received in the arms of love. While there was a time for me when travel was a subtle form of running from what I didn’t want to face, I am very clear today that I go only to experience the fullness of my self set against different and varying backdrops. Being married now has added a new and revealing dynamic to my travel in that there is someone waiting at home when I return, and someone to regularly connect with while I am away. For so many single years it was the cat sitter who most needed to know my current where-bout.
The point of my contemplations on this eve of another adventure is that there is an energetic and yet very tangible part of my inner being that, no matter how many miles I may be traversing, is always and in all ways at home. The feeling that I used to ascribe to the particular building in which I was dwelling is clearly and unmistakably the vibrational embrace of my very own heart space. Whether I am climbing the golden slopes three thousand miles away or sinking my toes into the sands of my Atlantic backyard playground, I live in a sense of home now that comes from finally opening to a place within where all of me is accepted and none of me is repelled. I have seen and felt the futility of trying to geographically outrun my self and the circumstances of my life. I have tasted experientially and intimately the admonition that where I go there I am. I have compassioned the fleeing, and I have embodied the staying. Though my gypsy- personage will undoubtedly and frequently continue to cart the luggage I have relinquished the need to try and escape the baggage. In the choice to inscape I have lightened the load and expanded my inner dwelling place. I am who I am wherever I go, and my very own heart will forever be my primary home.
And so off I go and yet here I stay. I anticipate a series of “wows” and a plethora of “awe’s!” I will at last see ones I have long loved and physically missed, and I will greet many new loves in a state of openness and discovery. And regardless of the number of miles or the extravagance of the vista it will all occur within this loving home of my heartful self. I always knew Dorothy had it right. There is no place like home. And I never leave it no matter how far I go.
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