The Truth Is You Can Never Leave Home

Buildings are solid, but 'home' is fluid.  Home flows with the presence of our loved ones. Home is not a building or a place, even if a place remains full of family history, deep roots, tradition. 

Home is  soulful, fluid, expanding, loving, evolving.

 creek running through our new farm

Home is steaming cups of coffee, mellow tea, hot chocolate. It's love and laughter, rolling pretzels, 

competing against siblings and cousins to find the bell on the Christmas tree,

 playing dress up 



                     and hugging.  




     

COUSINS!  Photo by Krista at Higher Focus Studio

Home can be more than one place, because.....                  

   

old place: Oregon View Farm  - photo by Krista Stolzfus from Higher Focus Studio

Home is where the heart is! 

relaxing at our new place

    






 

We are leaving this home and moving to a new one. Yet neither place is truly home. Home is where hearts gather to celebrate holidays, birthdays, life ...mourn loss...support one another. Home is family, and beyond. Home is where the soul finds hope, love, and rest. Home is where we are loved, along with our gifts and flaws.  


You can never go home again, 

             but the truth is you can never leave 

                        home, so it’s all right!  Maya Angelou 

new farm in Virginia

scenery at our new farm in VA

Our family by the barn at the old place: Oregon View Farm    photo by Krista at Higher Focus Studio

Goodbye Oregon View Farm.  It's been lovely!!   HELLO VIRGINIA......

Two Wings to Fly

Rumi quote:  "God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches you by means of opposites, so that you will have two wings to fly-not one."

In closing the farm homestead chapter of my life, I notice how I'd rather feel elation and hope, and not the opposites - overwhelm, exhaustion, despair. My conditioned-to-judge mind wants to label this experience as one way or the other: either it's 'wonderful- a fulfillment of dreams!' or it's 'wow, you are just not doing this well.' Don't our minds always search for peace by labeling? Peace just isn't found in labels. Minds also tell us stuff, disown, ignore our discomfort, wanting to protect us by not pushing our thoughts and emotions to our wilder edges...the very places that need stretching in order to grow or heal. 

I find that I need to sit in silence, in meditation, 

purposely holding the tension of desolation and

elation in my body and mind. It feels like being 

near Ireland's cliffs feeling both the thrill and fear of losing my balance. 

Through staying with my discomfort, even explore my inner edges, I learn how to find equilibrium in the midst of discomfort. I learn to know myself, to know my mind can survive, my soul can find beauty, even when things are out of my control. I don't have to 'like' circumstances, or even feel happy to know peace.

My musings this morning come after reading a chapter in Christine Valters Paintner's book: The Soul of a Pilgrim. And I offer you another beautiful writing, a paraphrase of Psalm 6, by Nan Merrill in her book: Psalms for Praying.

          

                                                             Psalm 6   

O my Beloved, 

continue to enfold me with your love;

Be gracious to me, Heart of my heart,

for I am sad and weary.

Surround me with your healing Light,

that my body, mind, and soul might heal.

How long must I wait, O Love?

I open the door of my heart to You,

my Beloved,

Enter in and imbue me with your steadfast Love.

I shall remember You all my days;

I shall sing praises to You throughout the nights.

I am tired of so many fears;

I cry myself to sleep at night;

grief and feelings of guilt

bedim my eyes with tears;

All my doubts, my fears, are creating walls

so that I know not love.

Depart from me,

you enemies of wholeness,

for the Beloved is aware of my cry;

Love has heard my prayer;

and hastens to answer my call.

Though my fears are running for cover,

yet they shall be transformed

by Love;

All that was in darkness shall come

into the Light. And I will know peace.

An Earthquake in the Heart

How Does Anyone Survive Relocating?  

              It is beastly. It is an earthquake in the heart. 
Thankfully, angels come to help you keep your balance! 

I have never moved before except to get married. Almost 40 years ago the stars in my eyes completely blocked any pain of leaving my childhood home. Since then, my friends and family members have moved. And, I'm sure I didn't pay enough attention. I read about moving in novels, of course. But, thought novelists exaggerate the inner upheaval for dramatic effect.  

I figured the farmer and I were solidly put on this land; we would never move so why pay close attention to something I'd never have to experience?  

In the recent past, a good friend talked about the struggles they had in moving. My compassion was so heartfelt; I prayed daily for them. And still I had no idea what it was like. Humanly, it's impossible to go into the inner landscape of another. The best we can offer is companionship and empathy. And soup. 

Angels brought us soup. I hope to do the same during others' earthquakes. 

Somewhere in my becoming more alive and awake, I signed up for a 'Yes!' to life. I want to be fully present to what is. See, feel and honor exactly what is unfolding in life. Often it takes effort to stay present, not sugar coat, minimize, cover up, suppress or blind myself to life. 

Someone hinted I'm too raw; I drag things out too long. At the time, I waffled between feeling chastised and compassion for him. Another asked me why I'm documenting a 'goodbye to the farm' and 'the last this or that' - why am I looking back so much? She could not do the same as it would be too painful. She speaks some truth. It is painful. 

Grandies play in a newly emptied closet. Note
the flashlight hanging by a bungee cord.

Most of us, including me at times, bulldoze our way through change. Or distract ourselves. Change is so unsettling! I love how children play their way through change. 







Being the queen of post-it notes, of finding beautiful answers long after the question, I wish I'd said, "I don't think of it as looking back, or wallowing. I'm standing firmly in the present moment, in the unfolding. My heart is open, undefended; I'm sorrowing and celebrating.  My family is deeply honoring our life together in this place. Our work on this farm, the 4, almost 5 generations of family here. All the sweat, the hopes, the birthing, the dying, the potato digging, steer wrangling, goat milking, hay bale throwing, and egg gathering. The lost dreams, the anger, joy, beauty and stink.... everything.

Four heads watch the grand piano dismantling! Sometimes
angels wear boots and work pants.

I can't do my celebratory bonfire idea, where we invite everyone who ever set foot on this place and loved it with us, to circle around the fire and sing, cry, reminisce, honor the changes. So Facebook photo albums and this blog become my bonfire. Everyone who ever loved this place is invited to gather with us.  

I'll end with a lovely quote by Parker Palmer:   

I know there are folks who don't want to contemplate the end of life, or any sort of loss, before they get there. For them it drains joy from the present moment.  For me, it's the opposite. Every reminder that there will be a last this and a last that — including a last moment — deepens my gratitude for this moment and helps me "be here now."   (http://www.onbeing.org/blog/parker-palmer-the-last-things-to-give-up/8381)


Yes!  Oh yes. 

Goodbye to the farm!     Stunning photo by Krista Stolzfus from Higher Focus Studio