Church, the Labyrinth, Homesickness & Other Musings

I don’t know which thought came first.

I’m at a coffee shop in Lafayette, near my most recent home, from which I am soon to move. Again, another home may not be here when I get back. My roommate has interviewed for a job that would move her near her other home, the one she will retire to. My last roommate may sell his house. The one before that may be planted for life. The one before that moved to California. I had no roommate in the next one back. And the one before that? Well, both roommates there have moved on.

I moved out of my parent’s home when I was 16 and within a year, my mother had, with unquestionably good reason, divorced my father, and there was no home to return to. The song, “Silent Night,” not the Christmas carol, but the one by Uncle Bonsai, is playing in my mind now. Even if I were on MySpace writing this, that one probably isn’t in the repertoire. I was browsing last week and discovered they’d disbanded. 

It never fails to make me cry.

Silent Night

My father’s house
Was warm at night
He used to sing me lullabies
Just like his father before him always did
Just like his mother would have done
If she had lived
My father’s house
Was safe at night
He used to sleep just down the hall
Just like his father before him always would
When he was old
When times were good
He found the time
He found a way
Piece by piece
Day by day

(Oh you look so pretty
Don’t forget to say your prayers
I will rock you ’til you’re sleeping
And I’ll carry you upstairs
And I’ll see you in the morning
I’ll see you in your dreams
I will always be here when you need me)

Silent night, holy night
I left a light on in the hallway
All is warm, all is bright
I keep my visions in my hand
Silent night, holy night
Life goes on beyond my eyelids
All is safe, out of sight

I was away at school
The night I heard the news
That I was all alone
From a stranger’s voice
On the hallway phone
She had to call collect
And mispronounced my name
And said that I should be there
On the morning train
There was no one to meet me
And no one to take me home

Silent night, holy night
I left a light on in the hallway
All is warm, all is bright
I keep my visions in my hand
Silent night, holy night
Life goes on beyond my eyelids
All is safe, out of sight

My father’s house
Is still at night
I hear the silence in the walls
I hear the footsteps in the halls
Just like the child inside me used to do
When she was scared and wide awake
She had the room to keep her warm
Safe from fears, safe from harm

Silent night, holy night
I left a light on in the hallway
All is warm, all is bright
I keep my visions in my hand
Silent night, holy night
Life goes on beyond my eyelids
All is safe, out of sight


I notice that I have started feeling advance homesickness. I go to a coffee shop, drive down a Boulder street, meet a friend for coffee, and I wonder how long it will be before I see them again. I tear up. “My name is Stacy and I cry.”

Yesterday, Audrey and I walked a labyrinth at St. John’s Episcopal Church on Pine in Boulder (near 14th if you’re looking). It’s outdoors, right by the street, in wonderful pink sandstone. There is a triskele at the farthest point of the outer circle, which is made up of stones that are engraved with one thing and another.

That labyrinth is a small replica of the one at the Chartres Cathedral in France. I want to go to the Wisdom University intensives there. Oh, there’s a small fly in that ointment! I read on our school Yahoo group that Marianne Williamson will not be invited back to teach. Damn. She was one of my reasons for wanting to go. What about Carolyn Myss, I wonder. I have written to ask if the sender has any more details.

I sat down to write about church. I had the thought that I want to go to church on Sunday. Not the brunch church I usually go to, although I’ll go to that, too.

I think I know what is going on. I’m at Java Java and they are playing music from the 70’s. I was a teenager then. Some of this is awfully nostalgic stuff! Chicago’s “Color My World,” Linda Ronstadt’s “That’ll Be the Day,” some of it is Motown. I don’t know the singers, but I know most of the lyrics. Okay, all the lyrics. *sigh*

And I get teary eyed about it all.

I think I’ll go to church on Sunday, but it won’t be University Christian Church in Fort Worth, Texas in the 70’s with Dr. Granville Walker, Senior Minister, pulpit.

Mother says I hate change. She’s right. As much as she loves it, I want things to be comfortable and familiar. If they aren’t, then I get them that way.

Ireland

*deep breath*

Love,

Stacy

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