Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery
The music in the piano stool. That vase.
Philip Larkin
I fell backwards into fall on Oct. 26th. Daylight savings time arrived earlier in France this year than in other parts of the world and left me feeling out of sync for a few days. My inner clock needed rewinding, so I forced myself out of the comfort of my home and took a drive through the neighborhood. Even though it’s been unseasonably warm with temperatures reaching 80 degrees, leaves are turning brilliant shades of red and copper, miles of corn fields have been cut and there’s a slight chill to the morning air. Autumn is here. In the countryside more is visible. Houses which were hidden by deciduous trees and shrubs, stand in contrast to the new landscape.
There is a complex relationship between people and places. Everyone of us has a place we call home, whether it’s a tent, caravan, condominium or castle. We share a deep, profound longing for home. If as Carl Jung said, our external world is a mirror of our internal world, what then makes a house a home? Can happiness or despair be held in the molecules of a structure? If the walls of your house could talk, what would they say? Why do we feel comfortable in some houses and not others? Can we change our lives by changing the places we live? Can we look at our homes without looking at ourselves?
Environmental psychologists believe how and where we live reflects our intellectual, emotional and spiritual makeup, either by choice or lack of. The truth is a person and their environment aren’t separate. How we live on a daily basis is a manifestation of our inner lives. If your home is neglected, dirty and cluttered, your garden overgrown and full of weeds, you won’t achieve peace of mind when walking through the front door – nor will living in a perfect home guarantee leading a perfect life.
Even though we may move from one home to another or from one country to another, home is where our spirits live and our hearts are nourished. Our homes represent who we are. If we love and respect ourselves, we’ll love and respect our homes. What makes a house a home is how successfully it supports and nurtures us, provides comfort and sanctuary and leads us on a journey of self discovery. If you honor yourself, you honor your home and and if you honor your home, you honor the world you live in.
I look at these marvelous photos, the structures apparently abandoned, and feel a sadness, as if they are melancholy, bereft of purpose and function, with no one to love. I don’t think I’m being a sentimental anthropromophist because the idea of the very structure originates in the human mind – often of one person. Then thousands of materials are mined from millions of years in the making, delivered, crafted by many hands, assembled and fitted together to real-ize that singular imagined concept.
The lives of those who live within the walls imbue them with their joys and sorrows, and I am certain that a house, its every part domesticated by the act of construction, is a living entity, its life dependent on the care of those it shelters.
I recall a needlepoint that could be considered corny but as an intention sounds right to share here: “Bless our house, each board and rafter; may our hearts be filled with laughter.” Thanks, Sue, for this provocative post!
Who’s painting is the image of the tall, skinny tower? Lovely painting.
Phillip Larkin’s poem is sad and disturbing…You know we just renovated and rented our home of 26 years and moved to a rental house that certainly doesn’t feel like home and never will. I didn’t realize what a huge part of my identity that house/home was. Now, no longer living there amidst all our collected treasures, in the house we built with our own hands, we find ourselves treading water, feeling non-commital about everything, and unwilling to unpack or set up anything until we create a new home that has genuine meaning and a heart.
Love your posts, Sue!
Agree with everything you said Sue. As we travel throughout the world, we always pass comments how sad some structures look, especially those which appear empty and how others look really welcoming and warm. Both large and small, by the ocean, in small villages, in cities or rural environments.
I read a book ‘The World Without Us’ by Alan Weisman in which the scenario is painted how the earth would reclaim itself (very quickly) if us humans were not here and amongst other things how structures and infrastructures, would crumble and decay without care. I agree with what was said. Our own houses and the care and love we give them are also affected by our continued presence and need.
When we see houses that look sad, they are invariably empty. They become sad very quickly. It always surprises us that just doing minimal maintenance on a house now and then, fixing things that appear small now not letting them grow into unmanageable too-hard to fix tasks make a huge difference. Both Deb and I strongly feel that homes need to be loved. And lived in!
Are the images paintings or photos? Again your selection is very poignant and beautiful. Like house and homes, they are a reflection of the structure of your blog.
Sue–I always treasure your monthly musing and photos–and this is the most beautiful one yet. Have been speaking with friends and reading about “living in the present moment”–how difficult it is for me to stay there without wandering to what was, could have been or will happen. I love the line that our home is where our spirits live–so important. Having a home is having your space and knowing who we are.Thank you, Sue! One more thing, are some of your photos undergoing an app to make them look painterly or is there something else going on. All are so beautiful.
oops–meant to put this in December. I’ll move it now.