Will Be Home Soon...

I went online to find a perfect definition of HOME for me. And here are some of my faves.

HOME

- the place where you are stationed and from which missions start and end

- to the fullest extent; to the heart;

- on or to the point aimed at;

I understand, though I find it weird, that many people do not find home in their parents. Even if I have never related peacefully with my brother, when the four of us are physically together, I suddenly feel an intense yet very familiar and comforting energy shift, a shift back to " the place where you are stationed and from which missions start and end, where it is to the fullest extent; to the heart, on or to the point aimed at".

It is like a sealing of a circle, a birth of another element- Family. Each of us are like wind, fire, water and earth. Together, I say we are ether, totally different from each other, but co-exists, at times, complements.



There are brief magical moments where I feel one with the Universe, with every blade of grass, with every throbbing of an insect's heart, but never did the connection falter nor flicker, in my experience, of a connectedness with my parents. With them, I don't have moments, I only have the lifeline that ceases not to breathe.

The time has come, as I have matured, that I ceased requiring them to understand me nor hear me.. or even love me. I have found an inner knowing and a wire of power between us, a love that needed not words nor actions. I can go home for a month and have my dad occasionally only pass glances at me, without having to talk or ask how I am or say hi. He can bury himself in his books, his videos, his politics, but still make known to me, that I am known by him, and one with them.

I have come to a point in my life, that all that ever consumes me of my family ( my parents) is giving back that which can never be equalled nor measured. I, to this day, am overwhelmed by the magnanimity of their committed love and support. As I have become a parent myself, I struggled to come closer to the vastness of the love that I have have been immersed with in their care. Their source is boundless. I can only reckon that it demands a high level of spirituality to be able to give such kind of love. To be able to be patient eternally to an unawakened soul. To be able to wait until that bud blossoms and fail not to see its end state, yet in the process, consistent in their quiet love. To forgive, strongly so, to never find imperfection.

My father's love is not simple. It is quiet, but not simple. It comes roaring and vibrating in power and inspiration, and at times, it is as cold as the temperature that can freeze water into crystals deep in the earth.

My mother's commitment to her children is profound. It requires constant awareness, revision and reminders of one's visions of a family and love. My mother declares herself an embodiment of it, rightly so, lives it.

What happens to a soul when raised by such powerful human beings? It shook me and cradled me at the same time. It is a foundness and a quietness, a peace that I could not find anywhere, and at times, when I can not find it even within, I reach out to them only to be brought back to myself once more.

Home, in them, is a place, where the struggle to be like others is never given birth or dies at its first breath. It is a place where visions explode of the greatness they see emerging in their children. At times, it is a powerful explosion of light that dissolves mundane fears and limitations. They won't accept the excuses and justifications of frailties that comes with being mortal. It is a constant pressure at times to enlighten, enlighten, enlighten. But they will take nothing less.

When encountered with a dilemma, my father chants " God, God, God". He is a constant reminder of a reality I have within me. My mother, in her divinity, will lead not but just like any grand being, is capable to bleed with and for others. She joins me in my pain and I know I am never alone.

Three more days and I will be home. I will be chatting about immortality of the soul and God with my mother once more. I will be listening to my husband and my father discuss Indian politics and elections. I will be quiet with them in the beach. We will eat together or not together and look forward to the next sumptuous meal. We will talk about India, India and India just as we did even when we have never visited this country then.

My dad will play his music and talk about his father who is no more. My mother will talk incessantly on the phone comforting others and/or booking time to be with her sister to keep her company. She will read books, after books, after books... and will ask for a time out from all of us, just to be alone, to surf the net or have coffee or take a walk with her friend. She will be planning tomorrow's meals and will still forget breakfast every now and then. She will never give up coffee.

Home, just like in other homes, will look the same. We will have meals, chat, watch movies, take walks, eat out, travel a bit here and there, see relatives and friends, shop, read and occasionally chat or sometimes chat a lot. We frequent the beach and the mall and the bookstores. At times, we will fight, make-up the next day or in the same day. Philosophize or justify our incoherence and then lead to philosophizing about life, and then fight again the next day. Maybe, sometimes enjoy gossip or detest it. That's all about it. That's home.