houses of the mind

My house.
My home.
A house for me is not a sense of security. It is not a representation of what I am
worth. It is not my ideal for my sense of living. It is not my castle. It is not where my happiness resides. It is not a family symbol. It is not broken, nor is it happy.
My house is where I sleep. It is where I keep the things I have collected. It is my
studio, my garden, and my kitchen. It is where I bathe, meditate, and dance. It is where i hang out with my friends. My house is not my home.
Two years of my life I spent backpacking on the North American continent. I
spent countless nights sleeping directly under the stars and feeling the breath of god
on my face. My home is where my feet take me. For it resides in my spirit. My home is
where my heart is, on the foot-path of my life.