I'm sitting here tonight, light of the laptop the only illumination in the otherwise dark room. There is music in my ears - fingers picking a tune on guitar and a voice that speaks of bodies on fire. It makes me long for arms that know how to lead me - strong and easy - in the quick, quick, slow, slow of the two step floor. One of the only places where the noise between my ears finally quiets and my body takes over - sure of its ways of moving and spinning and coming alive. There is a peace and a truth found there - in that space and in the twang of country tunes, feet gliding on the smooth weathered wood floor and spirit full and free. This is a way of coming home.

I'm reading and re-reading a piece of writing finally finished - one started years ago - wondering without attachment where it is to go and what it shall become. Because it is finished in a way that only feels like the beginning of something bigger and this has not happened in a long, long time. To write this way, after so long of holding myself separate from my own ways of being, it is a gift. Not a celebration, just the solidity and rightness of coming back again and again to the words - knowing that they don't forget or forsake, just wait until I'm ready to return. The words are always is a pathway home.

Tonight was just another Friday night - notable only for it's utter ordinariness. A school event. A homemade curry. A movie curled on the couch with my girlies and one sleepover friend and a lazy puppy. The little ones are now in bed and the eldest is across the room doing her own thing as 15 year olds are apt to do on ordinary Friday nights. This ordinary, this routine, the way we sink into it after the busy go-go-go of the week - it is a relief a return to connection and togetherness. This is our homecoming.

There was wisdom delivered today. Messages from outside and from within. Phone calls with voices that said things deeply needed. A reminder of wisdom - the raw and messy kind that came from the fire and the fight and the surrender. The kind that I can claim as mine - earned and owned - kind rooted as much in all that I do not know as in those few things that I can claim to know for sure. The freedom of the wisdom and the unknowing - this too is a reminder of self and pathway home.

The music and the dark and the words and the wisdom. The love and the family and the ordinary-extraordinary. The routine and the doubt and the fear. Those near and the far and the met and unmet longing. The knowing and the blissful space of trusting the unknown.

We are always, in ways big and small, finding our way home.

I remember this tonight, in ways I have not in a long, long time. And I smile, and close my eyes, and sway to the music in my ears and sink into the words that just flowed from my fingers.

And for just this minute - every last ounce of struggle dissipates.

And it is enough.