107. Address

        I am at home.

        I am at home.

        I am at home.

       Wherever I am.

      I lived at the same address for the first seventeen years of my life. I then lived out of a backpack, moving every few days or weeks for nearly a year.  Maybe that chance at travel incited the desert nomad in me. I married a man from the construction industry and even with children we moved twelve times in fifteen years.

       I became an expert regarding the number of boxes needed or the most efficient way to pack and move things.  I also learned to live on less, give things away regularly and not be attached to things.

       I’ve had just as many addresses in the past twenty years. This constant changing outer landscape allowed me to address my inner landscapes as I believe we see each other through other’s lives.

      If I were to address the state of the nation and the nation was me, I’d be saying I feel more at home inside than at any other time of my life.

        I’m calling myself a nation as I know I’ve had so many aspects of myself; some hidden; some repressed; and many of those aspects wanted listening; surfacing to be heard.   Nearly 20 years ago I wrote a poem called Parts of Me.

                                                        Within this body you all see

                                                        Is a baby I’ve found; she’s me

                                                        She lives inside me in like a womb

                                                        I want to care for her and give her room

                                                        Room to grow so she can meet

                                                        Her seven-year-old sister who has started to speak

                                                        When they feel loved maybe they’ll join

                                                        The terrorized twelve-year-old in my groin

                                                        I have a thirteen-year-old that’s full of shame

                                                        And a fifteen-year-old; I don’t know her name

                                                        I have this other self- the adult me

                                                        She’s the one you most often see

                                                        We’re beginning to trust a chosen few

                                                        Who will help me care for all of you

                                                        I think we know what we must find

                                                        Unconditional acceptance and a lot of time.

       That was near twenty years ago.  I am still uncovering new aspects of myself and this year addressing those aspects through songs such as this.

                                                        Singing, singing

                                                        We’re singing our way home

                                                        Singing, singing

                                                        I’m singing my way home.

      Thank you for listening to this address.

                                                                                    December 1, 2014

—Ellen Sagh

summer:  306 382-5204
winter      480 373-1734
writings:   ellensagh.com

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