Thursday, February 14, 2008
Of Past Homes...
Do you ever come across a passage or sentence in a book that makes you pause and think? (Silly question. Of course you do.)
This one did it for me last night:
“Perhaps it was a truth of life that the house you mourned was the one where you found yourself.”
Songs Without Words – Ann Packer
That line hit home – so to speak. I believe the sentiment expressed to be true.
Growing up, I lived in seven different homes. Of those seven, one house haunts me still. Literally. I have dreams about it.
That is the home where I truly became conscious of my “self” – of the world beyond my childish dreams and concerns. And while I have many precious memories of my life there, it is the place where I lost the innocence of childhood.
I discovered that the world was not Beth’s playground.
It was not just sticks and stones and words that could hurt me. The world had other weapons.
So, yes, I did “find myself” there. And I do mourn it.
The house still exists. I think it best I visit only through memories. My mind (with its amazing powers of healing and protection) has made that the safest way to journey to that particular place in my past.