Today I listened to a song by French singer/songwriter Francis Cabrel called "Les murs de poussière".
The song tells the story of a man who leaves his home (his little piece of land with an old bent tree in the middle of it, the soft light of the nights beside the fire that warmed up his father and the tribe of his ancestors, and his walls of dust) to try and find what he was looking for. He goes all around the world, tries everything, and ends up deciding to go back, because there was nothing as good as his little piece of land with the old bent tree etc...
As I was trying to sing with the song (I like the southern French accent of the singer, and the joyful rhythm of the song), I found myself almost choking with tears. My throat was closed with emotion, there was no way I could sing out loud.
I hadn't listened to that song in a long time, but it had never done that to me before.
The song carries a strong idea of home.
Home.
A home for me is a place where I feel peaceful, joyful and comfortable.
I know that I am the one who makes my home, and it doesn't depend on where I am.
Maybe I am looking too far outside of myself for answers that are in me...
2 comments:
or maybe we really ARE "Strangers in a Strange Land" and this world is not our home, no matter that we live here for a short while. . . .
The song was a hint of eternity. Even so, we keep looking for our home. You and me both, sister! xoxoxo S.
True.
Could well be.
I prefer thinking that I can feel home anywhere though. Makes me feel better :)
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