Today I finally got to my home after almost a month in refugee status – much of the time away because weather kept me from having free access to my mountain abode. Arriving home has been complicated, not the romantic reunion between self and place of rest that one might hope for it to be. Huge issues at multiple levels confronted me almost instantly and through the evening.

“Home” is maybe a romanticized idea –  but what is it really? What should it be? Does it protect and shield us from difficult realities in life, or does it insist that we come to terms with them? Both. I guess it is both. I wanted to come home and collapse into a refuge. But this is not a refuge. It is real. I am still a refugee from the refuge idea.

This is good, because it is true, and truth is good. But love always finds a way.

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