Our family home was on River
Road, a corner lot with a gravel, semicircular driveway in the front of the
home. You could see visitors come and go
when standing on the front porch or sidewalk.
I went to college four days
after graduating high school. I
completed my first four years of college within three by going year-round. I did not live at home again. I was a short-term visitor during the
two-to-three week breaks between quarterly sessions. Sometimes traveling to and from school with
my older brother or with friends, and then driving myself when I got my first
car… a 1964 Rambler.
During these years my dad
would come out of the house to greet me and he would come out to the car when I
was leaving. There were hugs and
kisses. And then his last words were,
“You can always come home.” His words
echoed as I left home and drove out the driveway onto River Road. This tradition continued when Bobby and I would
visit. As we were leaving, he’d say to
both of us, “You can always come home.”
My Dad’s words come to mind
and heart often. They are a source of
comfort. Over the years, his words have
evolved into a personal mantra to support my yoga practices whether it’s my
home on the mat, home with my breath, or being centered and present within my
heart, my true essence, my home within.
“You can always come home,”
reminds me to get on my mat when I’m just too busy or tired. It reminds me to
breathe when I have forgotten to breathe. It encourages me to sit in stillness
when I need to be still. It grounds me,
bringing me home to that place within that knows, clarifies, simplifies, and
recognizes it is all right.
You can always come home.
 |
| A hOMe tree |
