Home
“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
— T. S. Eliot
The word home embodies this paradox with ease.
It is where we begin, and the place that asks us to begin again. Sometimes it anchors us, arriving in fragments — a remembered doorway, a tree marking the turn of seasons, the taste of a childhood meal. At other times, it is simply the ground beneath our feet when everything else has changed. Home gathers the familiar and the faraway, the inherited and the improvised, the places we choose and the places that choose us.
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Listening to Life
What does it mean to listen—with attention, presence, and intention?
Listening is more than hearing. It is noticing the hush that settles over a landscape just before rain, or the way a child pauses before speaking, searching for the right shape of a thought. It is attuning ourselves to rhythm and breath, memory and feeling, to what gently flickers just beneath spoken words. It is not passive but deeply relational, connecting us to one another, to the places we inhabit, to the movements of time, and to the subtle unfolding of our lives.
In a world flooded with alerts, chatter, and constant noise—where speed is prized over depth—listening becomes an act of resistance. It often begins quietly, perhaps in a moment of stillness when something within us leans toward something outside. Sometimes it arises through rupture—in the wake of loss or change—as the familiar falls away and we discover new meanings or overlooked voices.
Listening asks us not merely to notice, but to linger, staying long enough to allow ourselves to be changed.