A Story on Survival
and the places we call Home
Home is an illusion and the truth is the only home that is real is the one within ourselves. This has been a tough concept to grasp as someone who has been separated from home in abrupt ways without control. For years, I was molested in my physical home as a child. The body I knew as home invaded in the place I called home. We lost that childhood home to foreclosure. Home for me has changed overnight and in the night many times. Safety has always been an illusion.
As a creature of habit and to protect any false sense of control, I have placed a lot of value in physical homes but that value was rooted in crippling fear and anxiety. It has kept me attached to a physical space longer than my spirit has been comfortable with. I value my physical body as Holy because at the end of the day, this vessel is all I have. All we have.
The fires are burning down LA, the land of material possession. People are losing their homes in horrific ways. Having to quickly decide what do I take and what do I leave. What do I truly value? Having to lean into community for refuge and support. Who do I truly value and who values me?
As a society we are being stripped down. Personally, I am being stripped down. It is in our nature, my nature, to cling to hold on to like a baby with their security blanket. Home gives us perceived security. But as someone who’s home and body has been violated on a number of occasions, the only real security is the source within. The belief system you carry. Where, at the end of the day do you go if there is nothing physically there?
Who is your God if not the heart that beats inside of you?
There is power in reclamation. In taking back space that is yours. That is the journey I have been on within my own body. Reclaiming what is mine, listening to it’s cries, honoring it’s needs. Freeing the spirit and expression that lives inside that has felt stifled since she was a little girl asleep at night when an intruder broke in and took any ownership and agency she thought she had. The voice who was paid for silence. Money can not save you. Your voice, your expression can buy you freedom.
I’ve survived the Holy war inside
Flowing through my veins
Transforming DNA
Setting my lineage free
Past, present, and future
I’ve survived
A partnership of vulnerability and bravery. You're like a sculpture, at least in the first two images, less so in the third which shows your face, a beautiful, living sculpture. But then, looking closer, so many amazing pores, quite a patina, and a rich, mercurial sheen soaking through. The body, your body, your home, is amazing! It flows, and yet, is contained, a root, a core. Kudos to you and to the photographer, both of whom, I think, have expressed you well.
so beautiful. barkfall and dancing roots. this felt really special and like it found me at the perfect time 💚