We are Home

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we find ourselves
turning away from what
we’ve had and known
dreams of distant suns
and faraway moons
proving too powerful
to calm the restless heart
and allow us to stay
we see ourselves
getting lost in the
seas and oceans of
the hearts and minds
of others, the din of
all that came before this,
as we search for the compass
the gravity, the ground
until we experience,
in one moment, a return
that is not quite a return,
and it can be the glint of an eye,
one embrace, the rustling
of one leaf or the magnanimity
of one ancient, holy tree,
and we know:
we are protected
the ground is ours and not ours,
yet yet, in our humility,
an opening as wide as
a cave that promises the world
has offered itself, and we are ready to
find the treasures and shadows within:
we are home.
– TS
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My Body My Land My Home

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I’ve crossed many lands,
and there are many more
my heart will guide me to
 
I will watch suns ascend
beyond great mountains,
feel the first blast of warmth,
gentle, hit my upturned face
and I’ll want to run toward
thousands more just like it
 
And the chanting I can hear
in the distance only affirms,
as I keep yearning, the
gem-like quality of this road
I have been taking
 
I will listen to the sounds
of a bustling new day still
tinged with the sweet sleep
of a community at peace,
 
I will long to be among them,
sweeping dusty roads,
performing ablutions, calling
out to neighbors, laughing,
putting the kettle to boil.
 
I will look for myself in it all,
the minarets in silhouette,
the sacred river going by,
the wizened face of a sage,
 
And I will know before I want to,
that the only land that can
sustain my earnest desire for
awakening is the land whose
borders mark the space
 
I take up in this world,
my body my land my home,
and I will finally
rest here too.
 
– TS

Here in You: A Poem

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It is always a
coming home,
a remembering,
the air whip thin
and sparkling
a sundance of
unfiltered joy
the crackling
under the feet
of a whole
cycle of life
preparing for
its journey
down, out,
through,
standing still
no matter
where you are
to find yourself
at the epicenter
of the language
of birdsong,
and you don’t
want to
decipher it
because
you realize
you already
understand.
You know you
are here
in you.
 
– TS

Tiger Eye

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our foreign land
eyes cast out
aeons and
memories deep
knowing not
perspective
from where
they gaze
 
our foreign body
groping wildly
in the dark
struggling
from a place
of unseen
clamoring
unbidden
 
a home our home
taking those
weary eyes
to task
filling them
with fire
turning it
around – TS

I am Home.

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I am home, just woken.

I’ve done my morning ablutions,

and take my first sip

of steaming coffee.

I put off the vacuuming for

another day,

I wonder what to do with

all the fresh mint, how to cook

with sesame leaf.

There is indigo dye

to experiment with,

the grey sky is readying for rain.

Last weekend,

when we went to the mountains

in a mountainous prefecture,

it was another sky, cerulean,

allowing the dazzle of sun through

so that everything, including

ourselves, glittered

like jewels.

We came upon a pond,

on one side of which

a gaggle of retired men

with the longest camera lenses

I’ve seen were at attention, silent

and stealthy, waiting

for a kingfisher to appear.

On the far end of the pond

was a house in the traditional style,

large and cavernous, gaping holes

on the roof, and it was hard to

imagine, on this sunny day

how wet and cold it would be

would be most days of the year,

if it were still inhabited.

Today, the house was flanked by

trees of every kind and colour,

like the four seasons decided

to hold congress in the

fractal rays of this one afternoon,

so that we could delight in

this fold in time and its

embrace of all our bleeding

emotions and sun-drying experiences,

as if to give every single one of

us visitors the warmth and

liberty to say it loud:

I am home.

We All Want Home

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It’s possible to spend a
lifetime looking for home
 
After many humble beginnings
Many false if hopeful starts
 
After bowing in thanks and
reverence for finding ourselves here,
 
For being given the chance to
know the awe of our humanity,
 
Thankful, too, for the realization
that home is a space we seek
 
Having found it in juicy parts,
the fiery sun descending over waters,
 
The bird’s first chirp as it arches
its tiny neck for mother, for food,
 
The cicadas heralding their arrival
for a cycle in comforting song,
 
The startling clarity of a cool,
clear river rushing downstream.
 
Between solid ground and the
expansion of sky, we are here,
 
Where for a startling moment,
inside matches out and our breath
 
Is the air of a thousand ways
to soothe and balm the world.
 
We will travel through many
places that will not be home,
 
Where we squeeze and constrict
and try and anguish and scream
 
In confusion for why home is not
our birthright, now, at the ready,
 
And then we will breathe, and breathe
again, and find that the pursuit of home
 
Is why we are here, and that there will
be nothing sweeter than arriving. -TS
 

Where We Dwell

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How many times do we
have to see such beauty,
such vivid remarks on
life’s wonders and splendors
emerge from the deepest blacks
where even shadows are
absorbed in the void
to feel the truth of it
sink deep into our bones,
that our hearts leap to the void
out of fear that might be
as deep as beginningless time,
but that we do not need to
rest here. This does not
have to be where we dwell.
That the darkness is where we
visit after starting out in light
and before we find our way back.
All this unbelievable beauty –
the trail home.
Also, no more and
no less that exactly
what it is. – TS