a person with a small bun on top of their head looks out a window, surrounded by a rainbow beam of light.

Home to me

I wrote this meditation during a time of self-discovery, including my sexuality. I invite you into this meditation, and, I wonder, what has been waiting for you? -Dawn

I have lived in this house my whole life.  It is a comfortable, loving home. At my best, it is tidy. At my normal, it is a bit messy but I know where everything is.

From the street, the other houses look just like mine. I assume they are the same as mine on the inside. Some have a special touch-a table and chair on the step, or a lilac bush. Some look more inviting than others.

Today is a beautiful day to air out the house, open up all the windows in all the rooms and let the sun in and air flow. As I go room to room, I notice little things, like my Dad’s AA medallions. I find a stack of old class pictures from when I was small and we all wore orange and brown. I linger with them for a while, trying to remember who I first was.

I am about to leave the hallway when I notice a door. Has it always been there? The door is a warm and bright pine. An inviting light shines underneath. It doesn’t look like a horror movie door, so I move closer. I hear voices-singing, talking, laughing, joyful voices. I sense I am close to  something I have longed for my whole life. An excitement grows in me. I extend my arm and grab the door knob. I take a deep breath and pause. The anticipation rises. I turn the knob and open the door.

I don’t even remember crossing the threshold as I am immediately enveloped in the sound. The room is full of songs, and colour, and people. So many people, all sitting around a long table. There shouldn’t be enough room for everyone to be comfortable, but, somehow, there is. The joy in the room fills my body and soul.

As if an invisible and silent signal has been given, the voices become quieter and quieter until there is silence. Everyone is looking at me. There are those I love and hold most dearly. Many others I do not recognize yet, but I know they love me, too.

Three things happen very quickly. First, I hesitate for the briefest sliver of a moment, afraid I am somewhere I do not actually belong. Second, I recognize three people, unique and similar to one another. One is the Creator who made me so she could love me. Another is Christ, my sibling and friend. And, then, the Spirit who leads me deeper into the room. I relax at her touch.

Third, everyone begins rejoicing. Some sing and clap. Some dance. Some shout. Finally, I accept this is, in fact, all for me. I can hear specific refrains:

Welcome home!

We’ve been waiting for you!

Look how you’ve grown!

You are so beautiful!

There are so many embraces. Every single person around the table looks at me with eyes that sparkle and dance.

A seat appears for me and I sit at the table, laden with food and wine. I start to apologize for being so late. Someone takes my hand and says, “We are just so glad you made it.” I try to tell them everything through my tears. “Shh,” they say. “We witnessed it all.”

I stay at this table which is mine. I stay for a long time, or maybe just a second. Time is standing still. I dance, sing, weep, laugh, talk, listen, eat, and drink.

When it is time to go, I rise from the table. No one makes a fuss, because I am not leaving them. They are coming with me, in me.

I go to the door and notice the door is gone. The voices and the light move through the house. The light from the table joins the sunlight that now grows and settles on every surface of the house. The cross breeze has taken over and the house smells fresh and gentle.

I return to the main room of the house. The voices linger, the joy fills me and is released through the whole house.

The table is a perpetual embrace. I never leave it. It never leaves me. It knows me and, now, I know me.

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