Home Is Where the Heart Is
When I was a small boy, I used to lay in the grass outside my bedroom, look up at the sky, and think one thought, "I want to go home."
Though my parents tried their best to love me (allowance! grilled cheese! dog!), I was certain I came from someplace else very far away. I felt like an orphan.
It wasn't that I was unhappy. I wasn't. I just felt displaced.
As I grew up and translated my boyish sky-prayers into a more classical spiritual quest, I began to notice a pattern in the books I read. Beyond the jargon and the all-too-common habit of implying that their way was the only way, a central theme was emerging -- the home I was looking for was within me.
My unquenchable thirst to have the experience of arriving was not going to be a matter of traveling to exotic places. It was going to be a matter of finding home inside myself.
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