Liminal Home.


I float in that place Between slumber and stirring In my Liminal sleep.

Lucid dreaming.
Sunlight pours
Upon my
Liminal eyes.
Mexico, I think.
And my heart and body are warm.
Then my eyes settle upon
My mother’s paintings,
My friends’ sculptures,
My rugs,
My dog.
How are these in Mexico?
Asks my
Liminal mind.
I slowly return
To my
Liminal body
And feel a home around me.
The one I’ve lived.
Not the one I’m dreaming into being.
Home is?
Forever
Inside our own hearts,
Among those where love flows,
Amidst a landscape that calls us.
The sand awaits my footprints
Coming back
To my
Liminal home.

Barbara Tint, a future El Pescadero resident, is a global professor, facilitator and trainer tackling many of the world’s issues with improvisation and storytelling.

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