Home is a place where you feel like a home. . .

When I was little, our art teacher gave us a task to draw our dream homes. On the next lesson every each of us had the same type of paintings – a huge house, very beautiful, with balconies and little gardens may be. Everyone had it. Except one. A friend of mine brought a picture of a boy who was laughing, playing with his family. He was the only one who understood the task correctly, though, the teacher didn’t give him a mark at all for not completing the task.

That’s because home is not a place.

You can find it on the desolate mountain peaks when you see the earth from above, when the adrenaline rushes in your veins and, strangely, you don’t have the feeling that you are waiting for Godot any more, probably because you’ve found it. Or, you may find it in the mist-eaten forests where the sense of orientation has left you and you feel completely lost and miserable. You may find home in the lowest points of dungeons, in the sunny-lit valleys, in the weddings, in the birth rooms and even in the funerals.

Home isn’t a place. It is a state of mind, to feel balance, harmony, warmth and care. It is a state of mind like the hell was for Milton’s Lucifer. You may not feel the warmth on your body but still don’t be bothered by cold; you may not have eaten but still don’t feel hunger; you may not have something to drink but still don’t feel thirst.

Home is not ‘where’. It is every question except it. It is –
How do you feel?
What do you think?
What do you reflect?
What bothers you?
What makes you happy?
How are you?
What are you?
Who are you?
Why are you?
The magical thing is that you may not even answer those questions and feel comfortable about it. But you know exactly where to go when you want to hear the answers.

At home.