Is your home, and I mean your inner house, what you choose it to be?  Is it what you thought as you have grown older and wiser and collected your stories?

We all have the same number of hours in each day to create~ though not the same materials to work with.  Is your house strange and not feeling like yours, or is it comfortable and worn and fits like a glove?

Even when we are slammed up against the wall with no wiggle room, there is always a way to create a new doorway and a new perspective.

 

(From Toni Morrison’s book HOME)

Whose house is this?

Whose night keeps out the light

In here?

Say, who owns this house?

It’s not mine.

I dreamed another, sweeter, brighter

With a view of lakes crossed in painted boats;

Of fields wide as arms open for me.

This house is strange.

It’s shadows lie.

Say, tell me, why does it’s lock fit my key?