Art and the philosophy of life

Posts tagged ‘Home’

Home…a poem

brown wooden house in the middle of green trees

she built her home
out of magic
the walls
were formed from
bits of poetry
random words
torn memories
and pages
from her favorite books
and chocolate
made up the ceiling
and yes
there were
shreds of rage
and revenge
moments of
and despair
that sometimes
littered the floor
but the cats
and trees
brushed those things aside
covering her nest
with beautiful leaves
and soft contented


Photo:  Mikaela Stenström

Home is where your ghost is…

white bird on brown tree branch

Photo:  Tandem X Visuals

A Halloween story about life on the outside…

grayscale photo of closed window with spiders webs and plants

Home, means different things to different people.  My home is the house that people drive out of their way to avoid driving past.  I’m not sure why.

I think my home is warm and cozy, but I suppose it’s all what one is used to.  It was actually my grandmother’s house, and her mother’s house before her.  My mother was born and raised here, as was I.

Some of the rooms in our home are used for different purposes, but I don’t see why that should matter.  The potion room spills from the kitchen into the living room, but there’s still a place for the sofa and chairs, lamps and a table.

The hall closet is a library, that’s kept locked at all times.  If a book from the closet is needed, two people need to be present.  One person opens the door and gets the book, while the other person casts the spell to keep the other things in there…well, in there.  One of the upstairs bedrooms is a library as well, but the door is usually open and the books mostly stay on their shelves.

Our dog is very large, and black as the vortex on the dark side of the moon, but he’s very gentle and likes to have his ears scratched.  His name is Spot, even though he doesn’t have one.  We have three cats, Minou, Mitzi and Thrasher.  All of them are guardians.   Minou usually sleeps curled at the bottom of my bed.  My mother said she did that from the moment I was born.

There is no basement.  When the house was built, my great-great-great-great-great grandmother said she didn’t want any part of the house below ground, making it easier for demons to reach us.  I’ve never seen a demon. My mother and grandmother said to consider myself lucky, so I do.  They just showed me their scars and I was convinced.

My crow’s name is Denise.  She sleeps on my headboard.  My mother and grandmother want me well guarded during the night.  Although, my grandmother said that night is only more dangerous than day, because we can’t see in the dark.  I think she’s right.

The house is set back in a little wooded area, where my grandmother and mother have a garden.  They grow the herbs and things necessary for their potions.  It’s a peaceful and beautiful spot and I spend a lot of time there when the weather permits.

My gift is understanding spirits and animals.  I try to help the spirits, when I can.  Most of them are just lost, or lonely.  Now and then a spirit might be really angry, but the fun part is chatting with the spirits ready to go into a new physical body.  They have completely forgotten, or dismissed, what happened to them last time they were on earth, and are eager to, “go on the ride and play the game,” once again.  I laugh with them and wish them luck.  I don’t tell them they’re going to need it.

I love talking with all the birds and animals.  I never tire of that.  Animals are much more grounded and loving than people.

The people who live around us often come to our back door after midnight and ask for things.  My grandmother and mother help them.  But the people they help, ignore and shun them, if they see them on the street.  I told my grandmother those people are hypocrites, but she said they have simply been conditioned to be unkind and to lie to themselves.  My grandmother is a lot nicer than I am.  I mean that.  She is.

I love my beautiful home.  I love my family, which includes our animals and plants.  I have no desire to be like the others.  I much prefer to live on the outside of what is considered be “normal,” when all normal really is, is a gigantic cult of conformity, in a world of fear.


Photo:  Denny Müller


Finally…home at last…

black and brown Dachshund standing in box

Photo:  Erda Estremera

House number two…

Library, Architecture, Books, Interior

I’d like to live here.  Kitchen in the Vegetarian Cookbook section, etc., you know.  How fabulous to dwell among this number of books.  Although, there are some books that would have to go.

It’s bright and cheery.  I love white, and the stairs would give me a great workout everyday.  I would need windows, however.  Huge skylight. and lots of plants and CATS.  They would have a blast, running up and down, walking on railings and sleeping on shelves and couches.

I would make some changes, naturally and maybe put an enormous chandelier here and there, so the crystals sparkle in the sun from the skylights.  Maybe a swing and tree. I might have the railings remade in a beautiful design, or use heavy glass here or there, or even steel wires  A gigantic fireplace, on one floor, a lap pool somewhere, and an enormous cat playground.  Maybe a couple of puppies and birds too.  Anyway, it would just be one of my places because my white cottage, on the beach, is still my number one destination.




woman holding white paper covering her face

if you believe in
you’ll always
find your way


Photo:  Darius Bashar

Home…a story poem

not of this world
she quickly tired
of the games
that were being played
so she packed her bag
took her
home planets
to the very edge
of the earth
returned to
what was familiar


Ruin, Old House, Decay, Old, Building

When I look at this poor house, through no fault of it’s own, it started to die, because no one loved it.  It stopped being cared for.

I think relationships are like that.  If love isn’t cared for and appreciated, they too can fall apart and end up abandoned.  If things get in the way of what’s important, people will just walk away.  When that happens, the relationship dies.

The thing every relationship/love needs is different for every one, of course.  Only the people involved know what they need/want, but they all need attention and care.

I happened to marry a chicklet. Well, he was actually human, but he was as cute and sweet as a chicklet.   I was absolutely crazy about him.  He was my chicklet until the Great Hen came and took him to wherever chicklets go when their lives are over.  So, while my house is freshly painted, my heart mostly looks like the house in the picture.  It’s hard to maintain a heart that’s been torn to pieces far too many times.

Home…from Astronomy Picture of the Day





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