There's no place like home...there's no place like home. There really isn't.
But how do you define home?
They say home is where the heart is, but sometimes - most of the time- my heart feels so detached from everything - so where exactly does that leave me?
Homeless?
They say home is family. I believe it. But my family has all grown up and we've all gone our separate ways. So where does that leave me?
They say home is family. I believe it. But my family has all grown up and we've all gone our separate ways. So where does that leave me?
Nomadic?
They say home is four walls and a roof over your head. Alhumdollilah. No complaints there. But that's much to much literal for me. So where does that leave me?
They say home is four walls and a roof over your head. Alhumdollilah. No complaints there. But that's much to much literal for me. So where does that leave me?
I want to feel something more than just what is tangibly in front of me. I need to know there is a place I can always go to to feel safe.
From all the stress. From all the pain. From all the nonsense. I just want a place to feel like home.
Lately, the only place that feels like home is when my knees and my forehead are pressed against the ground and all my thoughts, my prayers, and scattered hopes are at peace.
Allah Akbar.
Image 1: Matters of The Heart Print: And That's Really All That matters 11x17 orange and purple ink - recycled paper
Image 2: Moslem Prostrating Himself on Prayer Rug Charles Bargue (French, 1826-1883) charcoal on smooth, moderately thick, cream wove paper
Image 1: Matters of The Heart Print: And That's Really All That matters 11x17 orange and purple ink - recycled paper
Image 2: Moslem Prostrating Himself on Prayer Rug Charles Bargue (French, 1826-1883) charcoal on smooth, moderately thick, cream wove paper
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