THE ABSENCE OF GHOSTS
I wandered the rooms and corridors in search of soul and discovered it in me.
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There have always been hauntings—
echoes of little footsteps running down worn wood halls, and wall-papered-over childhoods in rooms left lonely and abandoned until a new family moved in.
This is what I’m drawn to, places with pressed in stories like thumbprints on everything touched, used, loved.
I have never lived in a home not lived in before, never imagined the “what next” without the presence of invisible guides who poured out their own creativity like an offering or a tempting to pick up where they left off.
The silence of these walls disturbs me, just a little, as I write. Even more troubling, I have no idea what lies between the sticks and plaster that have [in every other home] been stripped down bare for me to imagine, reconstruct, and ultimately admire.
This is the conclusion I have drawn after “trying to put my finger on”
the something missing and missed:
It’s the stories of other people’s lives that have inspired me up until this.
Captured between the parenthesis of forty-five years, this is the first time I will design without the “others” whispering in my ears. There are no marks of perfect imperfections of lives robustly lived. No quiet little inspirations of worn handles touched, window glass thickened at the bottom, no stacks of chimney bricks narrowing at the top.
I have sat on stair number seventeen of these broad stairs and waited for inspiration more than I should admit, listening for the silent sounds of voices calling, “breakfast,” and wishing for the soft breeze signaling someone scurrying past.
NEW is not my lexicon. Yet here I am and by own admission somewhat flummoxed by the fact. “Where were you when the papers were signed?” you [along with me] might ask.
This home. More comfortable in creature amenities than any other that came before. And still I am confounded by my ambivalence, even loneliness, the source of which I have failed to identify until now.
Soul: Once layers of generations that I could smell, sense, touch. Now an element of my own humanity that I must generously and vulnerably offer up.
What is soul if not an extension of purpose lived out in me—
A necessary “turning within” to find the inspiration that I crave.
Do you believe that your soul can meet its purpose in the place you least expect?
The soul this home longs for must be born in me. I will be the first offering and that leaves me both intimidated and in awe—that vast and incomprehensible responsibility to ensure only goodness spills out and over through the decisions that I make.
There will, someday, be another who unpacks and nestles in. And I will be their haunting—
little pieces of a woman both sure-footed and reluctant
scattered here…and there.
Have you every thought to wonder at what you leave behind—
Words of love and affirmation echoing,
Laughter more abundant than tears,
Healing pushing out all disappointment,
Prayer both powerful and permeating in every corridor and room?
This is what I yearn to design.
A meaningful reflection of what lies within.
A purposeful expression of the soul-ful woman I am.
NOTES:
Did you know you can grieve the soul by how you live? You know when the energy within you ceases to flow. It’s ironic that we turn to outside distractions to make us forget what we hunger. But that longing never really goes away.
HOME can never be created by imitating other people’s lives. Nor is it discovered in a thousand Pinterest images collected on a screen. HOME is the disposition of the soul at rest. Everything surrounding us is a reflection of this.
What I have longed for is the imbedded history of my own stories. And if I am brave enough, I will listen to what’s being said and apply every beautiful lesson.
ABOUT THE IMAGE: My least favorite word is Ambivalence. How can we be neutral about anything when our time here is so short?
Yet here I was feeling it…in my own home. Here’s a practical remedy to ambivalence that you may want to apply in your own home/life:
MAKE A BOLD DECISION. And so…I painted my great room walls black. After brushing on six different hues I decided on the darkest and purest of all. To me the choice is grounding and does an exquisite job of creating an intimacy that didn’t exist before.
If you want to read more about my history with the [non color] Black, you might enjoy reading Paint Your World
Oh…and Steve doesn’t know it but he says, “Hi.”
