For years, I have considered going home - not just back to my Mother (even though she is the Earth Goddess) - but going back to the city I'm from - Rochester, New York - I considered this...to be weak, and defeated, and a perfect way to concede failure and to give into the idea that I don't know what the hell I am doing...(which votes are in on that - I mostly don't).
I am a Seeker - by nature, a wanderer and a traveler and I lust for adventure and newness, for love and family. But, usually not MY family - instead, I have sought to insert myself into other folks' family as a big sister, as a surprise!!!! - bonus mother, as a new Wife.
And, all of those things have crumbled - having no roots to sustain them, and no grounds of Truth or purpose to support them. Those sandcastles built in earnest (and sometimes depression, and sometimes loneliness, and sometimes desperation) built too close to the sea-line - have dissolved under the wet of oceanic tears...and depression that pushed me to the point of suicide watch - had me holed up in some greenly-lit hallway of some random, backstreet slaughterhouse, I mean, hospital in a paper gown with a pillowcase wrapped around my head (because I was insisting upon doing Islam the way my piece-of-shit husband wanted me to; and that means keeping the head covered at all times - even while this White male doctor shoved his hand down my dress to "check my heartbeat")...and I had to pretend to be normal. Had to pretend I wasn't breaking and losing my mind - like I didn't cry my eyes out for the better parts of everyday for 8 months straight behind a man who could NOT have given a speck of a fuck less about me if all his mistresses gathered together under a full moon to cast a spell on him to compel him to try.
I LOST myself. Couldn't find one friend - not a life raft or one of those bright yellow float-y vests that they stick under the seat on your standard commercial airplane seat. I was DONE. Until I made a decision. Until I let all of my rage and pain and disgust calm into a plan that I executed with two women (one I've known a decade, and one I hadn't known for more than a couple months) and left that man in a house with no electricity, and no communication devices and overdrawn bank accounts, and no idea about where to find me. Left and came back the next day with 6 burly white men in uniform to get my goddamn cats.
Then, I was finally able to breathe and in a single night fixed about 85% of my problems.
But, I am still tired. Still strained. Still juggling too much and still sick.
So, now I am Homeward Bound. Because a refuge doesn't mean failure. It means rest. It means restoration. It means the ability, space, and time you need to pull yourself and your shit together...to relax for the first time in a long time, and maybe since the last time you been home... Room in your mind to think, to reflect and recap and draw up lessons out of experiences like water out of a well.
Home means Mother. Family. Peace. Protection. Security. Flat lands. Home is home. No place like it.
I like that, you know? The title of this blog Homeward Bound. That was the title of one of my childhood favorite films. In that film there was a cat named Sassy. After seeing that film countless times I decided I needed a cat and my mama got me one. I named her Sassy, too. But then, Sassy was killed - saw the flat, lifeless body myself. Watched my mama move quick to remove it from view. And, then suddenly there was a replacement in my life. Puff - had her with me for 15 years. She was my baby. And you know what? My mama's like that... a problem solver, a savior, a protector. To this day she appears in nearly every nightmare to remove the bad guys. Because as a young girl she told me she always would and I believed her - still do. Just recently she handled the police on my behalf, in a dream. Because, she's LIKE THAT you know? The type of Woman I HOPE to be one day. Cured my depression by giving me an insatiable love of books. Created a bedroom out of re-purposed dining room while I healed myself of heartache and bleeding, the first time.
Because my mama is like that. Because real mamas always be like that.
What are the words, that I can share as I cry and type...to describe how grateful and humbled I am that YOU are MY Mom.