Timeless Spirituality
Timeless Spirituality, hosted by Daniel "The Past Life Regressionist," is a captivating podcast that explores the depths of spirituality and its connection to time. Join Daniel and his guests as they delve into past life regression, astrology, and the timeless essence of existence. With occasional humorous moments, this podcast offers profound insights, making it a unique blend of enlightening entertainment. Tune in to connect with your inner self and uncover the totality of who you are and who you've been throughout time.
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Timeless Spirituality
Ep. 100 - The Mirror of Time IX: Home (Solo)
The Mirror of Time "Home" Series
Part five of five
The Mirror of Time V: Vagabond
The Mirror of Time VI: Sweetness
The Mirror of Time VII: Metamorphosis
The Mirror of Time VIII: Generations
The Mirror of Time IX: Home
Have you ever wondered if the idea of home is more tied to a place or to the emotions it evokes?
As we conclude the Mirror of Time "Home" Series, we follow Daniel on his final walkthrough of his childhood home, where he faces long-buried emotions and has a symbolic conversation with the house itself. The journey then takes him to his mom's new home, where he seeks the familiar to build a renewed sense of home. Despite the changes and distance, this chapter reminds us that home is more than just a physical place—it's an emotional anchor that offers comfort and identity no matter where life leads. Through this journey, we explore our deep connection to home, embracing the idea that it stays with us, providing stability and meaning in an ever-changing world.
Hey everyone, welcome back to Timeless Spirituality. It is now time for the finale of the Mirror of Time Home Series. It's been a journey I'll put it that way Ever since launching this series back in late February of 2024, we are now in late September of 2024, it's been a journey sharing Just being as open and vulnerable as I've been. It's very uncomfortable, yeah, it's massively uncomfortable. Yet this is something that I couldn't even fathom doing a few years ago. If you told me a few years ago that I'd be doing this, I'd say, yeah, there's no way. There's no way I would be that open. So I guess it's just all part of the journey. It's all part of that journey of growth. It's making the most out of this one life that I have, even though I believe that we have multiple, but I still want to make the most out of this one. Thank have multiple, but I still want to make the most out of this one. Thank you. Thank you for being here with me and thank you for going on this journey with me. Just thank you. I hope that. I hope this series has helped you look at home a little different. Yeah, I just I hope that maybe it's brought you closer to home, whatever that means. It's just, it's been something. So, thank you, and just to kind of let you guys know a little bit about what's coming for the show, I have about, I believe, three more interviews where I talk about Home with Others and I get their take on what home is. So a couple more of those episodes and then we're going to get back to the normal episodes and then there's going to be a little twist in season five, but it's going in a very spiritual direction, massively different from from season four. So, yeah, yeah, that's what's to come. And also, with regards to the finale, which you guys are about to listen, to make sure you listen until the very, very, very, very end, because even after I say the end, there's an epilogue after. So make sure you guys stick around if you want the entire story.
Speaker 1:Yeah, I don't know, I don't know what to say beyond this. It's something Cheers to the future, guys. Cheers to the future, cheers to the present, cheers. Yeah. And as I now shake myself out of this, if you would like to book a regression with me to discover who and where you have been throughout time, you can reach me on Instagram at the past life regressionist or my website, the past life regressionistcom. And now I think you guys know what time it is. I'm Daniel, the past life regressionist, and it's time to begin Liftoff, and the clock has started. This is Time with Spirituality. So here we are. It all comes full circle, yet we find our ending at the beginning and our beginning at the end.
Speaker 1:Yes, it is a circle, and as a soul living on this third rock from our sun, I believe I've lived hundreds, if not thousands, of different lives in different bodies, on different continents and in different cities, countries and civilizations that no longer exist. And in each of those lives, I believed I formed connections with inanimate objects that meant something to me in one way or another. No different than a child having an attachment to a doll treehouse or a pacifier, or, in my case, childhood toys and frozen yogurt. Or, in my case, childhood toys and frozen yogurt. But what about the dwellings and shelters that kept me safe in those lives? Do those perceived inanimate objects have memories and feelings of their own, or are they exactly as they outwardly appear to be, lifeless? But what if there is something more, residing somewhere out there, somewhere among the sands of time? For someone who believes he's lived these countless lives, you'd think my familiarity would equate to comfort.
Speaker 1:But as we firmly settle into the finale of the Mere of Time Home series, in my 38 years, in this go-around, I don't believe any place I've ever lived has ever quite felt like home. And yes, that even includes places I grew quite attached to. So now I have a question for you have you ever heard a song that sparked a feeling? A song that sparked a feeling In 2004, the band Green Day released a song called Boulevard of Broken Dreams, which feels like the anthem when it comes to my relationship with home, and the first verse is as follows I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known, the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone.
Speaker 1:In this five-episode miniseries, I have asked the question what is home? Or shall I phrase it in this manner what is a home? Is it a geographical location, A place with four walls and a roof, an enclosed space? Or is home a person? This series has been presented through a narrative of journal entries written over the course of nearly two years, whose origins originated straight from a guy coming to terms with the imminent nature of having to say goodbye to his childhood home. And then it became something else entirely. Some entries are written in the past tense and some are written in the present tense, as I simply wanted to see where and when in time my fingers would take me. So I invite you to sit back, relax and join me on a different kind of journey through time in the only life that truly matters, this one. This is part five in the finale of the Mere of Time home series. Hmm, yeah, I didn't do it perfect. Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, yeah, leave it unfinished for now, we'll get there.
Speaker 1:Chapter 37, september 4th 2024 the Distance Between Two Places in Time. Bear with me here for a moment. It's all going to be relevant, even if you don't understand it. For now, in math speak, distance equals the square root of the sum of the square of the difference between x2 and x1 and the square of the difference between y2 and y1. And in plain English, it is said that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. This is a mathematically absolute statement on its face, but I can't help but wonder is that taking different circumferences or diameters into consideration.
Speaker 1:Let me elaborate a little further. Yes, the diameter of a circle, which is the distance across the circle in a straight line, is shorter than the circumference of that circle, which is the measured distance around the perimeter of the circle. But what if the straight line being spoken of isn't the diameter of the circle? What if it's a line that exists outside of the circle? And if it exists entirely outside of the circle, is it possible that the circumference of the circle is shorter than that of the line we're comparing it to? Yes, in other words, what if the shortest distance between two points is a circle? And what if the distance between two places in time is much more simply complex than a straight line as we know it? And if none of that made sense, don't worry, as an understanding is not imperative for the conclusion of our story. I only hope to pose a sentiment, to elicit a sense of contemplation. And with that said, what if we're thinking too small? And what if that straight line is in fact a circle? And what if we experience that circle as a straight line? And what if that straight line is now bringing us back to the beginning of our story or, at the very least how it's been presented. And what if my little red wagon has been there all along? January 28th 2023. My little red wagon.
Speaker 1:It's been about two years since my mother floated the earth-shattering idea of moving away from my childhood home. How about we call her Casa Peach? Due to her original color the house that is. But now that notion is becoming more of a bona fide reality as my mom is set to move to a new house in a new city nearly three hours away in the desert of Southern California the first week of March. Now it's been nearly 20 years since I lived in Casa Peach, which nearly doubles the time that I physically lived there as a child. But Peach's walls hold a story, the tales of what happened for me inside and outside of that structure. But I can't blame the walls for constructing worldly events in my life, as much as I may have pounded on them in anger when I was younger. I still miss laying on that carpet in my bedroom as I created stories with my figurines. And although my mom has since replaced that carpet, I kind of like the newer one better. It's softer.
Speaker 1:My mom and I moved into that single-story, two-bedroom 1,500-square-foot house when I was six years old and for the prior year we had lived in a house at the end of the cul-de-sac that was only two doors down. I can still remember that summer day in 1992 when we walked over to Casa Peach for my mom to get the keys, the family who lived there was packing up their final boxes into a moving truck as their journey was about to take them to Denver, colorado. I remember the boy with the glasses who sat at the foot of the fireplace clutching his legs to his chest. He couldn't have been older than 12 or 13, but to me he might as well have been damn near 40. He was so sad, and I was a little sad too, but for him I was moving two doors down, he was moving to another state. I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for a boy his age In the previous year that we'd been neighbors. I don't ever remember seeing him until that day. And now, as I look back on that encounter over 30 years later, I wonder if he had a girlfriend who he had to say goodbye to 30 years later. I wonder if he had a girlfriend who he had to say goodbye to. I wonder if his Californian demeanor made it easy for him to make new friends up in the mountains. I wonder if he's married with children now. I wonder if he's even still alive. Well, I hope he's doing well. So, with the keys in our possession, my mom and I started moving the little things into our new house and, with the sunset on the horizon and my little red wagon in tow, I walked past the roly-polies navigating their way across the driveway and I was on my way to inhabit new walls.
Speaker 1:Chapter 38. March 1st 2023. My Thanksgiving Day Parade. The day had come nearly 31 years after my mom and I first moved in. From what I hear, the movers arrived in the morning and my mom stuck around until noon-ish. Then she set off for her new dwelling. Luckily, my mom has a friend who's super good at organizing, so essentially she'd stuck around to coordinate the move and wrap everything up on that end. But back to me, because this is my story.
Speaker 1:I didn't sleep well the night of February 28th into the dawn of a new month, as I knew that when the sun would rise and then inevitably set the following day, it would be setting on the familiar. The morning came and went, then the early afternoon came to say hello and finally late afternoon came calling. It was time to go to my childhood home to say goodbye. There was no traffic on that final automotive waltz, yet the drive felt longer than usual. I'd still be able to revisit the main road whenever I wanted, but it wouldn't be the same because there'd be no mama to go home and give a hug to. When I pulled up to the gate, I didn't know the same, because there'd be no mama to go home and give a hug to. When I pulled up to the gate, I didn't know the guard, but I said a few more words than my usual how's your day going? In the 25 years that the guardhouse had been there, I don't ever remember appreciating the greeting, whether it be from someone cheery or from someone who didn't want to be there. Then the guard raised the arm and I slowly inched my way to and through the gate.
Speaker 1:I looked at my car clock and I thought to myself I have nowhere to be. So I have the time and the time for what you may ask Time to drive on every single street in the neighborhood, approximately 20 streets and roughly 500 homes On the first street. I slowly made my way around the cul-de-sac, as I relived being nine years old and at a summertime block party. It wasn't my street, but my friend Jared from Little League lived there. Our picture even made it into the local paper. I guess you could say it was my claim to fame, jared and I each picking up a two liter of soda out of a cooler. It's good that the bar was said hi when I was nine, but anyways, I haven't seen Jared in years, but last I heard he was a professional chef. One of my classmates, colin, lived on the other side of the street. I always liked him, but as for what he's doing now, your guess is as good as mine.
Speaker 1:I made my way down to the street below riding beside little Daniel on his rollerblades. Then he kept going as I made a right on the next street and then the weather shifted from March to May as I found myself driving behind my mom's car except this was the car she had in the late 90s. We were coming home from my laser tag birthday party, dropping off my other friend, daniel, at his house, but out on the street was another one of my friends playing basketball. I had invited him to my party but he said he was busy. So when I saw him I told myself he was probably just afraid of laser tag. But I also wasn't an idiot. I knew what was going on. And as I sit here writing this piece 25 years later, it's easy for me to reckon with the fact that not everyone likes me, and that's okay, but to see that on my 12th birthday it hurt.
Speaker 1:Next up, after dropping Daniel off, my mom's car makes a left and I go to the right, continuing on my journey through time. At some time or another I made memories on every single one of those streets and the small grass field next to my friend Matt's house, the two community pools, the numerous cul-de-sacs and in countless of my friends' homes. These places and spots may have only been made up of nature and materials, but for me they held life and memories. Nature and materials, but for me they held life and memories. You see, for me, time is the ultimate personification of everything non-living, from the homes we grew up in all the way up to those who are no longer with us.
Speaker 1:As my parade continued, I drove on the streets that had been repaved a few times in the 30 plus years my mom lived in my childhood home, which brings me to when the streets were repaved when I was 12. Look, I'll be the first to admit I don't know a damn thing about pavement. But those streets were rough after the repavement of 98, and that was the year I got into rollerblading. Simply put, it was bumpy, and when I complained about it to my mom she told me it would be corrected within a few years as the rains came down and went, withering away the rough. And she was right, sort of, as the streets were corrected, with a subsequent repave a few years later, after I was no longer rollerblading. But here's the thing At the end of the day, it may have been a bumpy ride on my blades, but it gave the street some personality. The jaggedness carved them into the edge of my memory.
Speaker 1:And, oh my god, what I wouldn't give to be back on those bumpy streets rollerblading with my childhood friends again. I know I've said it before, but I have to say it again Where's the time gone? I continued my drive with a wondering permeation when have all the basketball hoops gone? Why are there no children playing on the streets? And whatever happened to those old garage doors? You know the ones, solid, loud, non-retractable like the contemporary garages Now? They just look weak and playing handball on them would be completely out of the question now, as they look too dinky to even handle the force of an inflatable rubber ball. But what would childhood have been without after-school handball tournaments around the neighborhood?
Speaker 1:And as I sit here writing this now, I see the questions I pondered on. That drive were far from existential. Yet somehow they were still far more complex than asking a four-year-old why they like popsicles, or asking a 90-year-old on their deathbed popsicles. Or asking a 90-year-old on their deathbed what's the meaning of life? Think about that. Then the delayed yet inevitable happened.
Speaker 1:I arrived at my childhood home. Except for the bench that was missing from the front, it looked the same as it had the day before and the year before that and the year before that. Then I experienced a momentary shift as I stood there looking at my childhood home, now asking the existential question do houses have past lives or consciousness? Chapter 39. A Few Minutes Later, pondering the existential Overall, I don't believe that houses have past lives or a consciousness, at least not one like our own.
Speaker 1:But I do believe everything is energy and everything has some form of awareness or another. I mean, trees are alive and lumber comes from trees, and wood is what's used to build homes. So does that mean that the walls are alive? Maybe. And if they are alive, do they reincarnate? Then I thought about my belief in reincarnation and how I do believe we crisscross across various lives, interacting with familiar souls in new bodies and circumstances. But this house I was looking at my childhood home. I believed and believe this is the only form it would ever take. No crisscrossing with this particular essence across future lives or incarnations. It was built from the earth and would one day be overtaken by it again. This was it. There was no. I'll see you in the next life house. But of course there's always the possibility that I could find myself face to face with my child at home yet in another life, that's, if I were to revisit the same place in another life. Just saying, but now, the time was now upon me. I was about to walk into my child at home for the final time.
Speaker 1:Chapter 40. The Final Walkthrough. Before going inside, I checked the mailbox just in case there was anything for my mom, although when I stuck my hand in there for the final time, I didn't have to worry about getting grounded due to poor grades coming in on report cards, but it made me sad to know this was the final time I'd be removing mail from the mailbox of my childhood home. Why didn't I ever cherish the action before that day? I mean, it's crazy to think. If I ever go do that again, I'm basically committing a felony. It's just a mailbox, but I don't know. Sometimes it seems like it's so much more.
Speaker 1:I then unlocked the front door and made my way into the short entry hall leading into a nearly empty house. Over the years, I had walked in to be greeted by various pets all excited to see me, but there was no greeting upon my final arrival. Not that there would have been anyways, because my mom's last dog passed away back in 2019, two months after my tonsillectomy and one month after I purchased the Nikes that I'd ruined as I said goodbye to the park the night before. To my left was the garage door, and a few feet in front of me, to the right, was the entry to the kitchen I'd walked into thousands of times before. Now, the kitchen was bare, except for the refrigerator, which my mom had left for the new owners of the house. While the act was kind, I almost wish she hadn't left it, as it made for somewhat of an eerie experience, as the fridge was now louder than ever. Well, maybe not louder, but it just sounded that way, as there wasn't any furniture to absorb any of the sound.
Speaker 1:I looked inside the refrigerator and was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. It was bare no orange juice or butter, no produce or water and no mega stuffed Oreos that my mom made sure were always there to greet me after my weekly dinners with her. Thanks to those Oreos, I always left the house with a sweet taste in my mouth. Then, to my left, was the kitchen table alcove, which was now tableless. My gaze was fixed as I rested up against the countertop, watching my younger self walk by and sit at that table every morning, reading the sports section of the LA Times, while eating a lightly toasted bagel with butter and a bowl of honey nut Cheerios. And, as the universe would have it, in that moment I could taste the sweetness of the cereal in that deep brown bowl and the perfect amount of buttery salt gently spicing my bagel. I then looked to my right, where I saw my seven-year-old self sitting on that countertop the morning of Halloween.
Speaker 1:I was dressed up as Data from Star Trek, the Next Generation, and my mom and her boyfriend at the time were applying Data's white android makeup on my face, and this was a step up from the year before when I dressed as Commander Riker, as Riker's costume didn't require any makeup and without the makeup I just would have been dressed as some average Joe Schmoe background character on the Starship Enterprise. I mean, the makeup really made the costume. As I left the kitchen, I grazed the countertop with my hand, taking in the difference in texture between the late 80s white's riveted tiles which originally occupied the space, in contrast to the smooth countertop my mom replaced it with. Years later, even though the aesthetic of the original kitchen was gone, it still largely felt the same. Across from the kitchen was a small coat closet, which was easily forgettable as it wasn't full length blended in with the wall and I never kept anything in there for myself. But on this day I felt I don't know a nudge or something to check it out one last time. And there it was, on the floor of the closet, the original pink carpet that came with the house. I could give you some obscene Daniel description right now, but I'll just put it this way it was fucking hideous and it didn't feel very good when you'd walk on it with your bare feet. Yet I spent hours at a time laying on that carpet on the floor of my bedroom while I'd play with my figurines and I didn't care about the carpet, as those toys were my mana from heaven, the gift that fostered my creativity.
Speaker 1:Then, from the entryway, I entered the empty living room area. This was the first time I'd seen this room empty since my mom and I moved into that house 31 years earlier. I had seen this room empty since my mom and I moved into that house 31 years earlier. That was the same day I saw that sad boy who was moving to Denver sitting at the foot of the fireplace, clutching his legs to his chest. I may not have been moving to Denver, but that afternoon I felt like that boy. The fireplace pulled me over like a magnet and I found myself assuming the same position he had back in 1992.
Speaker 1:I looked around the empty living room, witnessing it throughout its various iterations. For a while, the living room doubled as an office for my mom. Her desk was in the back corner, next to the sliding glass doors which led out to the patio. Behind the desk was a gray couch that made its way over from my first house. Then to the house two doors down from my childhood home and finally finding a home in my childhood home for four years, until my mom changed the den into her office and moved the TV from the den into the living room, got rid of the gray couch and replaced it with a black cloth sectional couch. Okay, at that time I was 10 years old and I didn't understand why I had such an attachment to that gray couch, considering I never really sat on it. Maybe it was the feeling of losing another piece of my first home. Or maybe it was because I have this strange ability to touch an object and revisit the moments I shared with it. Or maybe it's just the way things are.
Speaker 1:These visuals commenced my living room trip down memory lane, as I slowly rocked myself back and forth, wondering about the boy who lived there before. Was it easier for him to let go than it was for me? Then my thoughts of him faded as I saw another boy enter the room and grow up before my eyes. Me, I saw the moments of joy and the moments of sadness all rolled into one. I saw the many birthday cakes. My mom would walk over from the kitchen to the dining room table as the family gathered around to celebrate another year in the life of me, and across from me, on the mirrorless wall, I saw the image of a 36-year-old past-life regressionist who was dressed in sweatpants, a zip-up Sherpa hoodie and a black baseball cap, wondering to himself where has the time gone? And no amount of gray in my hair could overshadow that.
Speaker 1:On that day, when my mom and I moved into the house and I saw that boy clutching his legs to his chest, that there was something deep within me that knew that one day I'd be that boy, terrified of letting go Nonetheless, one with a little more gray in his hair, but still that boy, that boy so afraid of change. The pieces finally started coming together and in that moment there was a reunion, the ultimate reunion of the child in me and the man that I have become today. I came to realize that we have never truly been separated, never truly apart. The past will never feel the same as it did in each moment as I was living it, but who I was, where I've been and where I'm going, all somehow still beautifully coexist in every moment past, present and future. I couldn't see the tears streaming down my face, but I could feel them.
Speaker 1:I then rose from the fireplace and took a few steps to my left, walked forward and found myself in my mom's office. At this point I was far enough into the house, where the walls served as barriers to the sound of the refrigerator. So the silence set in. But the silence was a bit unnerving. I had never truly heard the fridge in this way before. Sure, its constant gentle hum never ceased. But today, in the silence, I heard what had always been there all along, even opting to take solace in the comfort and solitude offered by the four walls of my mom's office. And then this made me think what else might have always been there, gently humming or whispering in the background that I never took the time to truly hear and pay attention to.
Speaker 1:Then my mom's office transformed back into its original form as the den from when we first moved in, and my journey through time transported me back to Monday evenings at 8 pm in the first and second grade, where I had a standing weekly date to watch Captain Picard and his crew of the Starship Enterprise explore strange new worlds and new civilizations and boldly go where no one has gone before. Captain Picard's weekly journeys across space, and sometimes through time, left me admiring a man who constantly explored the unknown, and in that moment I learned a little bit more about myself, in that flashback of sorts. Now here's the enigma Since I was a child, at my very core I've craved change, mixed in with exploration and uncharted and often uncomfortable territory, but only when that lofty package could be unpacked from a place of comfort, regularity and reliability. Star Trek the Next Generation aired each week, reliably for the most part. It was never late and it was always there to greet me with the latest episode's adventure. It gave me a sense of stability, while somehow also unveiling and inspiring a part of myself that craves so much more the freedom and beauty of blasting off into the unknown, while having the strength to trust that the roots and foundation that I carefully crafted for myself over the years would always be there, no matter where or when I find myself in life. And that standing date continued until Star Trek the Next Generation signed off on May 23, 1994, with an episode appropriately titled All Good Things, dot, dot, dot.
Speaker 1:Next I went into my mom's now empty bedroom and somehow it looked smaller, with nothing in it. I spent a few minutes in there, reflecting on my younger years nights when I made a small makeshift bed out of couch cushions on the floor next to my mom's bed, as that was the only place I felt safe enough to fall asleep, so that the mean people or big, scary animals couldn't get me in my nightmares. It's funny how the people in our lives can feel just as much like a fortress and a place of safety as the homes and structures we rely on for safety and security on a daily basis. I mean, there was nothing my mom could have done to prevent these scary sleep time occurrences, but it sure was comforting to wake up in my protector's fortress, a home within a home who would have thought?
Speaker 1:From inside my mom's room I opened the shutters to look out into the backyard. It wasn't much in stature and size, but its colorful plants and flowers made you feel as if you were surrounded by the Mediterranean's most prestigious flora. And on the inside of that colorful floral arrangement was a small patch of grass. But as a child, with my aluminum baseball bat in hand, that small patch of grass only knew the bounds of the Major League Baseball stadium I'd envisioned myself in as I'd be facing off at the plate against the greatest pitchers of all time.
Speaker 1:In Game 7 of the World Series, bottom in the ninth, two outs down by three, with the bases loaded and a full count, I'd build attention by imagining game-stopping distractions, holding up the pitcher. Then I'd keep fouling off the pitches, just as Kirk Gibson did back in the 1988 World Series. Silence would fill the stadium and then the pitch would come my way and 90% of the time I would knock it out of the park with the crowd going wild. Now what happened the other 10% of the time? Simply put, it'd strike out, because even as a child, I had a spot in my imagination reserved for how to deal with loss. Was this the best use of my imagination? I'll let you decide. But no matter if I hit the game-winning home run or had a game-ending strikeout, my trophy was always waiting inside just a short while later, a home-cooked meal from mom.
Speaker 1:And as I sit here now, I wonder what would have happened on my final walkthrough if I decided to bring the baseball bat that I now keep under my bed for home defense and went ahead and stood on that small plot of grass. Would I still have found myself in the big leagues today? If I'm being honest with myself, probably not. I'm not sure at what point along the way I lost that magic of childhood, but what I do know is that now I can see that magic for what it was, and I appreciate it that much more. Before I left my mother's room in my childhood home, I thanked it for being across the hall from my room, and then I thanked it for keeping my mom safe for all those years while she did the same for me. And then I stood there delaying the inevitable.
Speaker 1:I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to my room, so I decided to take a slight detour out to the garage. It was in this memory where I revisited all the times I'd entered the house after I moved out. You see, when I'd come over for dinners with Mom, she'd usually leave the garage door open for me as well. I guess she just wanted to make it easier on me. So on the day of the final walkthrough, I spent a good chunk of time stepping up two inches into the house, pausing with one foot in the entry hall and the other in the garage, remembering the aroma of whatever meal my mom was cooking, whether it be a New York cut of steak with Santa Maria seasoning, a roasted chicken with potatoes and other assorted vegetables, pasta with meat sauce. I mean, yeah, you get the idea. It was definitely a vegan's paradise. Then repeat the cycle all over again, taking in the next whiff of that culinary perfection. But the cycle had to end as it was time for me to accept. I never physically have another one of my mom's home-cooked meals in my childhood home. I mean, at least I could revisit any time I wanted to in my memories, but it would never be present in the here and now.
Speaker 1:And then the final room was calling Mine. On that cold March day I walked in a little over two feet taller than the first time I entered my childhood room, nearly 31 years earlier. The meteorological contrast was uncanny. The first time I said hello, it was a hot summer day and I was wearing early 90s neon shorts and a t-shirt made for a six-year-old. And here I was saying goodbye in polar opposites, short of a parka, that is. But the truth is is. I don't believe the weather made a difference. The emotion I was feeling would be there regardless of what was transpiring on the outside, and the festival of early 90s colors wouldn't have cheered me up. I had to feel what I was feeling and call it for what it was. This was my most confusing goodbye.
Speaker 1:I stood there, frozen in place, pondering the questions I had asked a little earlier. Are houses alive? Do they reincarnate? Do they have consciousness? If I speak to the house, just as I did to Linda on her final day, would the house hear me? Just as, I believe Linda did? One tree, or many trees, died for the lumber to make this house. So does some part or speck of that tree live on? Some of these questions may have been asked to delay the inevitable, and some of them may have been asked well, to ease my pain with regards to never being inside these walls again, but what they all had in common was a reluctance to let go.
Speaker 1:I looked around my childhood bedroom, repeating what I'd done in the living room minutes before I envisioned every iteration the room had gone through in the time I'd known it. It had been years since this room looked like my room, but it'll always be my room. I looked in the corner next to the closet where my first bed in that room resided, until I was 16 years old. It was a full-size mattress. I stood there wondering how the hell did it fit in that little corner. It looked so small without anything there, but it did fit, and it fit perfectly. And better than that, since it was in the corner, it gave the room more surface area between the desk and dresser, more surface area for me to play with my figurines.
Speaker 1:Then I looked in the empty closet and realized that the entrance to the attic was in the ceiling of my room. For years I had thought it was in my mom's closet, but it wasn't so, of course. I stood there wondering how did I never notice this before? How is it that I still have things to learn about this house? So naturally for the explorer in me, that left me wondering what else I would discover if I looked a bit closer. Were there any secret doors leading down to secret rooms where my mom would host tea parties for the movers and shakers of the world? Was there an underground nexus of tunnels connecting all the homes in the neighborhood just waiting to be discovered? Or, if I went up in the attic, would I discover a portal leading to the lost civilization of Atlantis? The notions did intrigue me, but with the little time I had left to say goodbye to my child at home, I decided it would be best to leave some things as a mystery For what comes next.
Speaker 1:I made a choice to suspend my disbelief. Now I do believe in the idea of God or a higher power, but what I needed in that moment didn't require anything I couldn't touch, taste, smell, hear or see. I needed to hear myself speak out loud and to say the things I should have expressed at some point over the previous 30 years. I needed to speak calmly and not yell as I had done in that room many times before when I was younger. I needed to have a conversation, man to house, but it was all just too much for me to handle. Emotional sensory overload kicked in and I knew that I needed to feel what I needed to feel. Admittedly, I dropped to my knees in a somewhat overly melodramatic fashion for my audience of one, the non-sentient house, and I gently fell backwards onto the cloud-like carpet and cried like I hadn't cried in years. I really, really didn't want to say goodbye.
Speaker 1:In the 1996 movie Star Trek First Contact, captain Picard and the crew of the Starship Enterprise, along with an armada of starships from the United Federation of Planets, engage in a battle in space with a technologically superior species known as the Borg. The Borg are cybernetic organisms linked to a collective hive mind with a single objective at the forefront of all their actions Strive for perfection and assimilate all known and unknown species into their collective. But when the battle begins to appear in favor of the Federation, the Borg open a wormhole in space and proceed to enter. Open a wormhole in space and proceed to enter. Captain Picard and the Enterprise pursue their attackers through the wormhole and find themselves on Earth of their past, april 4th 2063 to be exact, the day before humanity's historic warp drive flight in a ship known as the Phoenix. Now, of course, I was captivated by the premise of traveling to the past in order to save the future, but the scene that really hit home for me was when Captain Picard found himself face-to-face with the Phoenix, accompanied by android and confidant Lieutenant Commander Data.
Speaker 1:Picard slowly approached the ship with the awe and wonderment of a child's first trip to a candy shop or a toy store. He then gently places his hand on the exterior of the ship and momentarily closes his eyes with meditative grace. Data looks at Picard, confused as to why the captain is so captivated by a piece of tin. Picard responds that he is living a childhood fantasy and states that he must have seen this ship hundreds of times in the Smithsonian as a boy, but he was never able to touch it. Data, striving more and more every day to learn what it means to be human, asks Picard if tactile contact alters his perception of the phoenix. In a very matter-of-fact way, picard exclaims oh, yes, for humans, touch can connect you to an object in a very personal way, make it seem more real. Data then touches the phoenix. As he yearns to understand why Picard is so moved by the experience, he takes the moment in and arrives at his conclusion I am detecting imperfections in the titanium casing, temperature variations in the fuel manifold, but it is no more real to me than it was a moment ago. The scene wraps up with a slight snicker on Picard's face, as he is proud of Data's eagerness to understand humanity. But Picard understands that Data still has a lot to learn.
Speaker 1:So, finding myself somewhere between Picard and Data, I did what I felt was sensible in the moment. I lifted myself from the carpet. Then, just as Picard had done with the phoenix, I stood in front of a wall in my childhood bedroom and gently touched it to make it seem more real. I led off with a simple question Are you going to miss me, like I'm going to miss you when I'm gone? I stood there for a moment waiting for a response that I knew wouldn't come.
Speaker 1:Touching the walls of my childhood home didn't bring them to life in a very personal way, as Picard stated. So, feeling slightly defeated by the notion, I looked to my left and saw myself as a child, playing with my figurines, using my imagination to craft stories which brought joy to my life. Now my imagination has never left me. It just looks a little different than it did when I was a boy, but it was there nonetheless. I can do this, I thought to myself. D bring these walls to life. With childlike wonderment, I imagined a shift in the space, the barometric pressure in the room dropped, and had the house not been empty of objects, I'm confident that shit would have been. With childlike wonderment, I imagined a shift in the space, the barometric pressure in the room dropped, and had the house not been empty of objects, I'm confident that shit would have been fucking levitating. A perfect 72 degree strong gust of wind blew through my childhood home and dried my tears away. The carpet morphed itself into a translucent beanbag chair in the middle of the room Then lit up, as if it were delivering a nonverbal message come sit on me. The questions I had earlier asked about trees having life all began to make sense, and saying goodbye to my child at home reminded me of one of my favorite books my parents had repeatedly read to me as a child the Giving Tree.
Speaker 1:According to Wikipedia, the book follows the lives of an apple tree and a boy who develop a relationship with one another. The tree is very giving and the boy evolves into a taking teenager, a middle-aged man and finally an elderly man. In his childhood, the boy enjoys playing with the tree, climbing her trunks, swinging from her branches and carving me plus t, which stands for tree into the bark and, of course, eating her apples. However, as the boy grows older, he spends less time with the tree and tends to visit her only when he wants material items at various stages of his life or not coming to the tree, intends to visit her only when he wants material items at various stages of his life, or not coming to the tree alone, such as bringing a lady friend to the tree and carving their initials into the tree In an effort to make the boy happy at each of these stages, the tree gives him parts of herself which he can transform into material items, such as money from her apples, a house from her branches and a boat from her trunk. With every stage of giving, the tree was happy.
Speaker 1:In the final pages, both the tree and the boy feel the sting of their respective giving and taking nature. When only a stump remains for the tree, including the carving me plus tea, she is not happy, at least at that moment. The boy returns as a tired, elderly man to meet the tree once more. She tells him she is sad because she cannot provide him shade apples or any more materials, like in the past. He ignores this because his teeth are too weak for apples and he is too old to swing on branches and too tired to climb a trunk, and states that all he wants is a quiet place to sit and rest, which the tree, who was weak, being just a stump, could provide. With this final stage of giving, the tree was happy.
Speaker 1:How can I have been so foolish? I asked my child at home my first question are you going to miss me like I'm going to miss you when I'm gone? It was so selfish there I was continuing the ask to provide for me, just as the tree had done for the boy in the giving tree. Me, me, me, me, me was all I could think about. I then apologized for my actions and asked the wall what it is that I could do for it. And that's when Wally that's my new name for the wall that's when Wally said what can you do for me? You can let go without ever having to let me go. I then raised a brow as Wally continued.
Speaker 1:I've watched you grow from a young boy into the time traveler who stands in front of me today. For years I've comforted you as you've cried and I've creaked to celebrate your each and every joy. I block sound from the outside world so you could get lost in your beautiful mind, giving you the opportunity to know yourself and what you'd one day have to offer the world. Your question was not selfish, dear child. Of course I will miss you when you are gone. I was designed and built to house you and others like you. But just because others in the future will write their own life stories, as I shelter them from the elements of the earth, you and your story will always hold a special place in my heart. I know you're confused, as I know that you've been on a lifelong quest to understand what is home and, yes, I've listened at a distance to your conversations about the interactions of the stars and the planets and, yes, they are asking you to discover that very question what is home? So, yes, I ask you to let me go, without ever having to let me go, but I also ask you to trust and love yourself with grace and ease, just as I have. I ask you to continue your quest to understand yourself and your part in the world, but, above all else, whenever the day comes, when you discover the answer to your personal existential question what is home I ask that you'll think of me and, if I'm even lucky enough that you'll come visit me to say hi, even if it's with just a wave from next to that little box of the human word mail where my paper brethren are delivered daily. You and I, we did well together. You'll always be a part of me and I'll always be a part of you.
Speaker 1:I continued to stand in silence as Wally continued to block the sound from the outside world. There's more to this house than walls, I thought to myself. This space fostered the first act of my life story, and its story will continue to be written even after I say goodbye. I knelt in the corner of my childhood room and thanked it for providing me with the space to foster my creativity, and I promised it that I would get my creations out into the world. I then did cartwheels into the bathroom and thanked the shower for being my favorite well of creativity, as most of my creative ideas seemed to come to me with that warm water pouring down. I mean even in this entry.
Speaker 1:The inclusion of the touch scene in Star Trek First Contact was the result of an idea that came to me in the shower shortly before writing it. Now, of course, I didn't actually do cartwheels into the bathroom, but please, for now, just roll with it and roll with somersaults. I did into that old den and I thanked it for housing that little tube, the one that taught me the value of storytelling, because when I was younger, reading was very difficult for me. And then I made my way back into my mom's room and I thanked it for teaching me that heroes prevail in the face of danger, even when the villains are coming after you in your dreams. Then my legs lifted a few feet off the ground, my body leaned forward and I flew like Superman into the living room and found myself hovering over the fireplace and I thanked it for teaching me the dichotomy of ebbs and flows and story structure.
Speaker 1:One minute it's cold, then it's hot. It may seem boring, but excitement can grow out of the mundane, such as humanity after the discovery of friction creating fire. But then reality found its way back into the moment. It was time to say goodbye. I walked back to my room just as if I were on that pirate ship walking the plank, peeked my head inside and took one final look around. But even as I'm writing this now, all those years flash before my eyes again and again. I'm here and I may not physically be there, but I am there. And with the flash I knew it wasn't a final goodbye, it was simply I'll see you soon. I turned off the lights, said thank you one more time and symbolically and literally closed the door behind me.
Speaker 1:As I look back on that moment, I realize it was my imagination that helped me get through the difficult process of saying goodbye and it made me think about the difference between the imagination of a child and that of an adult. From the day each of us were born, we all had imagination, and that ability to imagine stays with us until the day we die and possibly beyond. But still, there's certainly a difference from the imagination I have as an adult and the imagination I once had as a child. As a child we imagine by default, while as adults imagination is a choice. As an adult, we also have all the lessons we've learned along the way, the good and the bad and everything in between. We also have all the memories and all the knowledge and all the experiences we lack as children. So that made me think. As an adult, our ability to imagine has an arsenal all of its own, and in that final goodbye with my child at home, I experienced the very magic and power of that arsenal, what that adult imagination is truly capable of if we choose to use it. It was in that moment that I truly came to realize imagination is absolutely not just child's play.
Speaker 1:Upon my exit, I removed the house key from my key ring and reluctantly placed it with the other keys on the kitchen counter. Now I'd be remiss if I didn't talk a little bit more about my childhood home house key. You see, on that day I had five keys on my key ring my car key, the keys from my place in my building mailbox, the key from my dad's house and the key from my childhood home. I'll never forget the day my mom gave me the key. My eyes lit up as I knew it would always be identifiable. It may have been a quote-unquote, regular key, but it looked more badass than that traditional brass, as my mom had the key dressed in Superman. Just for me. So without the inclusion of the key to my childhood home. Just for me. So without the inclusion of the key to my childhood home, my key ring currently exudes a little, okay, a lot less color than it did the day that I said goodbye to my childhood home. But then again, my future hasn't been written yet. From where I sit today, the ways I imagine bringing color into my life, moving forward, are innumerable and boundless. I mean, a guy can imagine, right? Chapter 41. March 22, 2023. A commencement of sorts.
Speaker 1:I've been out to the Palm Springs area many times before, for many vacations or day trips, but this trip was different. As for this trip, I was driving to my mom's new home. My normal 15-minute drive turned into a three-hour expedition. On my journey to her house, the highway rain morphed into wind kicking up the desert ground and my car went from wet to bathing in the dust. Things were already different. I had to pack a duffel bag to visit my mom and a few days prior, my mom asked me what I'd like her to pick up for me at the grocery store for breakfast. So, feeling adventurous, I told her gala apples with sunflower seed butter, which just happens to be what I have pretty much every morning for breakfast these days. Anyways. Boring, you ask? Yes, but keeping carbs around my place is a recipe for disaster.
Speaker 1:Anyways, when I finally arrived at my destination, my mom was excitedly waiting outside, as she could not wait to usher me inside because she was so beyond excited to show me her new home. It was bigger than my childhood home, as you can get more home for your money in that part of the state. It was also newer than my childhood home Well, brand new, actually, as construction had been completed only a month before. She showed me into the first room, which she deemed my room, and, simply put, it was comfortable. Next up was the kitchen and she was so excited to show me her walk-in pantry in the island in the middle of the room. She quickly showed me her room, as she was more excited to show off the bathroom and how much more luxurious it was than the one in my childhood home. And we made our way into the backyard the barren backyard. There was a slab of concrete and an overhang which served as the patio, and a lot of sand beyond the concrete. In the few minutes I'd been at my mom's new home, I could already tell how much happier she was to be in this new environment. The barren backyard may have looked well barren, but that was the point.
Speaker 1:After living in my childhood home for 31 years, my mom now had the opportunity to basically design her life from the ground up. I suppose you could say it was a way to express her imagination and creativity. I was still mourning the loss of my childhood home, but I'm not so sure she felt the same. My loss felt like her gain, but that's okay, because I was just happy to see her happy. Then, once she showed me the house, we drove around the area for a bit, as she wanted to show me all of her new staples, you know the kind the grocery store and the hair salon. Our quaint day then continued as we came back to her home and I took a book out to read on the patio as she cooked dinner, and I must say I do like the patio furniture that my mom picked out.
Speaker 1:Now it's probably worth mentioning that I was writing the Mere of Time, metamorphosis piece around the time when I went to visit my mom and while writing it I realized I had never read the book which kind of indirectly kicked off this whole past life journey, the book Linda's sister spoke of while Linda was in the hospital. A little book mentioned in Metamorphosis, called Heaven is for Real, and after reading it I understand why it was not the time to read it. When I first learned of the book I just wasn't ready for it, and the truth is I don't exactly well agree with everything that was said in it. But I do respect that it is out there in the world and I am very glad that I finally took the time to read it. So if you need me to spell it out for you, that was the book I was reading. I guess you could say it was kind of a full circle moment. Anyways, back to the story.
Speaker 1:A little while later I heard my mom exclaim Dinner's ready, so I jumped up, excited for a home-cooked meal. I opened the sliding glass door and was greeted by a familiar scent, yet in a new environment. This house wasn't home, but a piece of it felt like it. Then, after dinner, I went in the refrigerator in search of my old friend Mega Stuff Oreos, and, wouldn't you know it, they were right there waiting for me, in the same spot as they were in the old refrigerator in my childhood home. We had our reunion and that was that.
Speaker 1:The quaint night continued as I took my book back on the patio for a bit, then went out for a walk around the neighborhood. When my mom crawled into bed for the night it was 9 pm and my mom's 55-plus community was quiet Mmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm. And of course she was freaked out before I left for my walk, worried that I'd get eaten by bears or sharks or whatever predators she imagined inhabited her new desert community. But I lived to write another day.
Speaker 1:I woke up in a new environment the next morning, craving the familiar Time for breakfast, my favorite meal of the day, the apples and sunflower seed butter my new familiar were there waiting for me to dig in. But there's a difference between contemporary familiar and nostalgic familiar. The house may have been different, but my mom largely remained the same. If I wanted this place to feel like a home away from home, it would have to play the part. If I cared about sports, I would have asked for the sports page. But those days are long behind me. But I still like my carbs.
Speaker 1:So I set out to relive childhood breakfast time and, with two golden halos around their respective packaging, I placed a plain bagel in the toaster and poured myself a bowl of honey nut Cheerios Ding. The toaster sang. It was time to butter my bagel. This house wasn't home, but a piece of it felt like it. My mom and I spent most of the day together, then had dinner together. That evening I then continued the routine from the previous night went outside, read my book, then went on a little walk and crawled into bed. But falling asleep that night was difficult, as I was plagued by visions of my childhood home. I saw myself saying goodbye and I could feel the pain of loss all over again. Why was it so hard for me to say goodbye? Eventually I fell asleep and then woke up again the next morning in this new environment environment, and made myself the same breakfast from the day before. I mean the same breakfast I had every morning growing up with my child at home. Where's the time gone? Then it was time for me to say goodbye to my mom and her new home. She sent me home with the apples that I didn't eat and said I could take whatever I wanted from the refrigerator, but for me the apple sufficed. I gave her a hug and a kiss and was on my way back to my place.
Speaker 1:The drive lasted a little less than three hours. It felt long and of course it was because it was much longer than what I was used to. I spent most of it focusing on the road and thinking about this mirror of time piece. Everything I experienced while at my mom's new home felt significant, but I wasn't quite sure how to fit it all into the bigger picture. My adult-like imagination was steering the metaphorical boat. How do I make this work of nonfiction interesting, I thought to myself. But it didn't need to be interesting, because I didn't write this piece for anyone else other than myself. As I searched for the answer to my new existential question what is home? Tears are coming to my eyes in this very moment as I write these words, as I know, I'm coming to the end, as it was on that day, when I arrived at my place for my mom's new home, when I realized how this story, as it stands, now ends and that, my friends, is the circle coming to a close? Chapter 42. Home.
Speaker 1:The drive back to my place came to its conclusion and I found myself in the familiar routine of parking my car in the nearly underground structure beneath my building. In front of me was the vacant space which let sunlight into the structure from the outside. This in and of itself was familiar, but at that time the feeling was peculiar, as when I would generally arrive back at my place from seeing my mom, it would be dark, as the sun had generally already gone to sleep for the night. But on this return I was met with the sunlight. I stepped out of the car and noticed I was feeling a bit stiff and sore, as most people generally do after a few-hour uninterrupted car ride. But this was different, as I was used to a quick trip there and back from my mom's home. My eyes began to tear up as I walked up the stairs to enter the building.
Speaker 1:Back on that hot summer day in 1992, with the sun setting on the horizon, my mom and I began to move into our new house and as I stood a few feet off the ground with my little red wagon in tow, I walked past the roly-polies, navigating their way across our old driveway. I suppose we were all on our own journeys, ultimately aimless, yet with purpose, and back in late March of 2023, my pace hurried to enter my unit so I could let the feelings come to be. Even though I held, and still do hold, a deep attachment to my child at home, the true reality of the situation finally set in. As I put my things down and went to have a seat, the feelings emerged from the abyss and I found myself crying, although not as sloppily as I had a few weeks prior, as I said goodbye to my child at home. How did I not see this, I asked myself. As I reflected back to my drive out to my mom's new home, I was a 36-year-old adult playing the comparison game. You know the one. Well, the old house had this and the old house had that. The old house had this and the old house had that house had that. The old house had this and the old house had that.
Speaker 1:Silly me, somewhere around the circle, the moral of the story was set at the beginning, memories of my mom and I at my childhood home flashed across my mind. I don't remember whatever happened to my little red wagon, but somehow in that moment it was sitting in front of me in my living room. Over 30 years later, most of my happy memories at my childhood home included my mom. I mean sure she pissed me off a few times, but the love that existed in that house was the love of a child to his mother and a mother to her child. When all is said and done, home may not be the enigma that I've led myself to believe.
Speaker 1:The memories of my mom and I continue to flood in Her gently singing me to sleep as a child with the lullaby Eternal Flame, me performing Part of your World for my audience of mom, your world for my audience of mom, and her still joking with me to this day about how the W's in the word world were just too darn big for my little mouth. And to this day I still pull my guitar out from time to time to perform the song for her, making sure I really emphasize the W in world. And most importantly, I was greeted by the memories of all the times she was there to give me a hug when I needed to feel safe from the world around me. And as the memories continued their song and dance, my child at home stepped in from a distance to block the sound from the outside world, just as it always had done, keep me safe and sheltered when I needed it most. But the distance was an illusion, as Casa Peach was and is not confined to a single place. My child at home will always be with me.
Speaker 1:And then, with the snap of the fingers of time, the straight line became a circle. And then everything became so crystal clear as five simple words came to the mind of a child who had grown into an adult, but one who would always remain a child at heart. Yet those five words had been there all along, pure, innocent and unfiltered. Would you believe me if I told you this was a story all about a boy who really missed his mom? With my eyes fixed on the ground beneath me, I made my way into the other room and posted myself in front of the bathroom mirror. And, with both hands firmly mounted on the counter in front of me, I slowly and gently looked up from the silence of the space, gazed deep into my own reflection in the mirror of time, took a few soft breaths, then let those five words lovingly roll off my tongue for the whole world to hear. I really miss my mommy, up where they walk up, where they run up, where they stay all day in the sun. Wonderful wish I could be part of that world. Yay, that's the best. Oh honey, thank you so much. That was wonderful.
Speaker 1:The Epilogue, september 12, 2024, somewhere, someplace else, the circle threw me another curve last night. I must have been dreaming because the conversation I had felt so real. I found myself sitting at my kitchen table putting the finishing touches on the Mirror of Time home series. My table then began to vibrate as a call was coming through my phone and the caller ID read somewhere else. Slightly intrigued, I picked it up and spoke to a man who identified himself as Jessup, a big, strong, burly figure who spoke with a heavy Midwestern accent. I asked him where he was from and he said I'm from what you would know to be the 1800s. I was law and order sheriff of my town and you you was my son. I lost you to the pox when you was three. I may not be your papa in this life, but I've been with you since the day you was born in a different role. I'm what's known as your primary. Yous refer to us as spirit guides, but we prefer the term elephants, which is something we picked up from you when you were once talking about some elephant in a room, and that's why we like the term, as we're like the elephant in the room. You can't miss us. We're always right there, and tonight I'm here to have a long overdue conversation. I lowered the phone from my ear, reread the caller ID somewhere else. I then looked around the room, shrugged my shoulders and I said yeah, okay, let's see where this goes. I asked him if it was okay for me to record the conversation and he kindly obliged. Then our long overdue conversation commenced.
Speaker 1:Why you think you're so focused on what home looks like? Who gets homesick when they don't know what home looks like? No one, I responded. No one gets homesick unless they know what home is. So you've been home and you want to know what that's a home that ain't no one can sell, that ain't no one can buy, that ain't no one can take from you. That's a home that'll always be your home, and so the only reason you is here today is because you decided to leave your home Because, well, it's important, people leave their home sometimes. Home will always be with you. You gone, been there, done that, and that ain't going nowhere. In that piece you're writing you said when you was a young man that you didn't want to be here no more. It's because you was homesick.
Speaker 1:But whoever did anything meaningful from home, the bravest people, the people that make the biggest difference, are the people that say I'm going to leave home, no matter what that means. I'm leaving home because I want to do something that matters, not just be comfortable. I'm leaving home because I want to do something that matters, not just be comfortable. And tonight you can rest comfortably with the fact that you have a home and there ain't no one taking that from you. You ain't going nowhere and you left home because you chose to leave home and you had faith that your home wasn't going nowhere, and it ain't. You always have your home. You've always had it. Everything's going to be just fine.
Speaker 1:And while it's hard to remember what home feels like when you're drowning in the middle of it all, when you're halfway there back there, who knows where you go from there? But everyone remembers their home. Home goes nowhere we do. Does that make sense? Yeah, home never leaves. We choose to leave it and we choose to leave it for good reason. Nothing good ever came from when we just sitting around doing nothing from home, and there ain't nothing wrong with staying home sometimes.
Speaker 1:But there are some of us who choose to leave home and sometimes we find our way back home. Every time we find our way back home, it's hard to leave it again, but those of us who choose to keep leaving it, well, that's faith, son, that's faith in home. And home ain't a place Not really, but it's just something that feels real good Because everything surrounds us. You call them houses, people. It don't work like that, but it ain't because we're in a place with ourselves that feels like home. It's because everything that's there with us, that's what makes a house a home. It ain't a physical building, nor is it a place, but it is home. It is home because everything that surrounds us when we are there, which ain't even a place, but it is home because it feels like home. And that's something we never forget not fully and it's something we remember Every time we come back, whether it be for a holiday or a visit, because we're needed because we want to go back home.
Speaker 1:That don't change nothing. The closer we are to home, the more we remember, because we see everything that comes with it. It makes sense in a way that I can't even put into words, but when you're closer to it, you know. Remember that, son. Remember that you want to know what home is. You know what home is. There ain't nothing you can do that's going to change that and there ain't no choice you can make in life that's going to change that. There's no wrong decision, son. Your home, that's your foundation, that's your home, and it ain't built of brick and stone. It ain't built of anything that can be destroyed, torn down, sold, nothing like that. Your home is something that will always be with you, even if you might forget where it is. But you can't ever forget because it's always drawing you in, no matter how far you walk. And I just want you to remember you know your home. It ain't going nowhere and there ain't no choice you can make while you're down there with your feet on the ground breathing air.
Speaker 1:That is the wrong choice, as long as you are making choices that are true to you, most importantly, true to your home, because you know who you are when you're home. That's the you. That is all, that's real. That's the you that ain't distracted by nothing and no one forgets their home, even if they think they do. Deep inside, they know their home.
Speaker 1:So, as long as you're true to yourself, son, there ain't no wrong choice you can make. Are true to yourself, son, there ain't no wrong choice you can make. I mean that, that's it. I hope you understand that. Do you hear me? Yeah, there ain't no time here. It is place, though. It's meant to be a place where you can recognize what that means, and it is so much bigger than you recognize. And, son, wherever you are, where you're at now, home is always with you. It goes with you everywhere you go, because it ain't fixed to any one place. It ain't a place. You recognize that more as you get closer to it in a way that ain't it, son, tonight you was very close to it. You recognize that more as you get closer to it in a way that ain't well it. And, son, tonight you was very close to it. Hold on to that. Remember that. Why am I close to it tonight? Because you is son, because you meant to be.
Speaker 1:Sometimes we all need to have a little bit of a taste of home so that we can keep doing what we're doing and find our purpose wherever we're at, even if it's very, very far away from the place that we think home is. You make it sound like I'm about to die, son. You ain't dying. You know I'm going to die, son, you ain't dying. You know I'm going to tell you that you ain't dying. Yeah, yeah, I know, but you're close enough that you can at least get a taste of it now. But it ain't because you go in there anytime soon. You ain't dying, son.
Speaker 1:I hope this made sense to you. There ain't no place like home, and just because you might have a memory of it especially around, the holidays are important, are important, or what you call times doesn't mean you're going back there soon. But well, there are certain times, as you understand, that we all find our where. We all feel a certain connection to what home feels like, even though we might be a million miles away. Well, son, let's just say tonight's Christmas Eve, you ain't going home, you ain't going back yet, but it's that time of year where you remember it just a little bit what home feels like, get a bit more perspective on what it all means. And tonight we're all here cheering you on, All of us who love you, and when the day comes and he's ready to leave that place you're at, we're all going to be here to welcome you home, son. Do you understand? Not yet, thank you.