So, I’m sitting here pondering the meaning of life, like all good hermits. It seems to me that we are here to live our lives thoughtfully and what better place to do that, but at home. Hopefully, we have created a space of beauty and tranquility, where these things come naturally to mind. Some find themselves through wandering the world, or among crowds. I’ve had my fill of searching around. For now, at least, I am home, or at least getting there.
Home is where you are comfortable. Warm and fed. You have time. A place of memories, perhaps even memories that you cannot remember. A place of answers, maybe. I find I do not know even all the questions, much less the answers. I guess I have come here to try to find some of them.
"You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out – perhaps a little at a time.”
“And how long is that going to take?”
“I don’t know. As long as you live, perhaps.”
“That could be a long time.”
"I will tell you a further mystery,” he said. “It may take longer.” Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry
I’m a long way from retiring to my rocking chair, but the image seems wonderful in its patience. It feels good to sit here for now. Giving things their time. And noticing them, while quiet and in the rocking rhythm of the world.
I once thought of writing a dissertation on the theme of Going Home in rock music of the 1960’s and 1970’s. The possibilities were endless as poets immortalized the potential reunification of our souls. Here is one of the best:
I want to sit at home in my rockin' chair I don't want to travel the world As far as I'm concerned I've had my share But time’s more precious than gold I don't wanna see another airplane seat Or another hotel room The home life to me seems really neat I just wanna unpack for good
Buy me a ticket homeward bound (homeward bound) Buy me a ticket homeward bound (oh homeward bound)
– Lyrics by Christine McVie on the Bare Trees album by Fleetwood Mac, 1972
... and sometimes I just sit.