One theme. One poet. One memoirist.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


Anne Lamott writes about shitty first drafts. Since I read about these drafts, I've found great comfort in them.

It's been a while since I've put down words. These ones have wrestled their way out, but for about a week I've not been able to make much of them. When I think about it, my brain freezes. Home is too close and yet too far. There's so much to say that I can't say much of anything. It's an interesting phenomenon--one I've noticed in my writing about my mom and dad as well: I could write volumes about my dad despite the fact that he's been dead for over twenty years, but writing about my mother is nearly impossible.

I feel like my musings here are beginnings; there's a world behind these words, but that world isn't quite visible. Yes, as the writer it's my responsibility to let you in to that world. But, I'm tired of sitting on these words so there you have it.




“Home is a feeling I buried in you.” (“Breathe” by Greenwheel)

The places I call home have buried themselves in me. I, in turn, have buried myself in them. Home, like God, is love, support, challenge, hope, and comfort. Home is noun; it is people, places, and things.

Two years ago I moved to Minnesota. I had been here for two years before that while I got my master’s degree, but the second moving was real. It was a commitment to a place for longer than two or four years; it was indefinite. As a result, it was terrifying.

I do not generally think of myself as a person who has left home. Instead, I carry the homes I’ve had before with me. The somewhat simple act of creating a space for myself has forced me to weave together these disparate places; it has made me acknowledge their hold on me. My apartment is Kansas City, Atchison, and Saint John’s all rolled in to one. It is reminder of my mother, coffee bar, place of prayer, shrine to learning. The space I have created is a haven for stillness and peace. It is a place of blessedness.

1 comment:

  1. I was thinking about your house on my retreat today. How it sticks out in my mind as the one home here where I walk in, exhale hugely, and feel totally at peace.

    You have a good start, Murphy. I wish you would just starting writing when you're talking about home. You have beautiful things to say.