Why Home
“Within every human heart is a homing device with a gravitational pull to the intact blueprint of home.” -Salt + Gold
Separation from the true meaning of home—and the potential it can provide—is a large part of why so many of us feel fractured, alone, and disconnected from our place and purpose in the world. But every culture throughout time has known “home” as the center of the universe. To most of our ancestors throughout the world, home has been a living being in its own right, a being that sheltered numerous house spirits and protectors. Every material that created the structure, and every object within, had purpose—not just practical, but also mythic. The everyday act of entering and exiting, of building the fire, making the evening meal, spinning, weaving and sewing wool into clothing, existed at the threshold of the mundane and the magical.
So what happens when we forget what home holds for each of us? When we brush it into the dusty closets of our awareness, thinking of home as little more than a dead place whose only purpose is to hold our stuff and sleep off the day? What happens to our connectivity, to the full intact life force, when the ancient fullness of home is forgotten, taken for granted, or even abused?
And what could happen if we remember why home matters?
Home Is a Universal Instinct
All beings, not just humans, seek home. The winged ones gather twigs and leaves, threading bits of shimmer and brightness into nests like altars in the trees. The four-legged ones burrow into earth, nestle into dens, or return to caves and hollows—places of rest and return. The weavers of silk and honey create intricate webs and hives. Even the rooted ones, the plant beings, find home by anchoring deep below earth's skin and devoting their whole lives to one point in space—bark, branches and blossoms birthing habitats for others to abide.
Humans have carried the same instinct for home into ever more sophisticated expressions. From moss-covered huts to adobe dwellings carved into cliff sides, wickiups and wigwams to igloos and yurts — home crafted from wood, bone, bark, clay, hide, and glass. Human shelters have always secured far more than survival: home has been the axis of spiritual and relational priorities. Home is where the seeds are stored and the stories passed down. A wooden spoon held the living wisdom of the tree from which it was carved. The hearth held the continuity of ancient fire, passed through generations to offer warmth, fuel and secrets in flames. Home is where babies are birthed and ancestors are mourned. It is where the rituals of season and time, of grief and of celebration intermingle with the larger ecology of earth and wind, water and fire. Home is the anchor that bridges the body, soul and elementals, translating forces too grand for language into shape, scent, texture, ritual, and belonging.
Home Is Not Always a House
Please do not confuse a house with home. A home can be the back of a truck, a tent in the woods, a patch of earth beneath a tree. A home can be a moving thing—a caravan, a pilgrimage, a pocket of stillness in the in-between. Ultimately, home lives in the body and in the wild touch of the natural world. There are many—too many—without a fixed place to lay their head—banished, displaced, exiled from ancestral lands, carrying only memory and relic in their packs. We do not pretend to answer the grief of this long lineage of loss.
But we refuse to believe that home is only for the fortunate or the wealthy. That is a myth we do not uphold. We all carry the blood memory of the exiled, the wanderer, the refugee. No matter our current comforts, our lineage is braided with stories of leaving, of longing—and nothing is certain now.
Yet the archetype of home, the soul-current of home, runs through our biology in the deep dreaming of the animal body. Home is often a place, yes—but more so, it is the felt sense of return, of rest, of being received. It is our inheritance and our nature. Home is everyone’s birthright.
May we all know the relief of leaning our backs against a sturdy tree, of a cool draft of water, of a sliver of summer sky through the branches- of receiving a caring gesture from a stranger. May we all know the internal feeling of home.
Home as Guardian
Home is our guardian. It is the membrane that acts as a kind of outer immune system, filtering what nourishes and repelling what harms. It shelters us from storms, from heat, from wind—and from the modern deluge of information, noise, and chaos. Home is our external nervous system—an electrical map of communication that hums with memory, feeling and meaning. Just as the body carries and transmits sensation, the home holds the imprint of what has been and what longs to emerge. It speaks in light and shadow, in texture and tone, offering constant feedback to the psyche, body and soul. Rituals and stories are still born here—woven into the rhythm of winter nights and seasonal cycles.
Home is our foundation and our sanctuary. It is the most immediate threshold to the deeper layers of self and community. It is the retreat and sanctuary where we do our deepest inner explorations, bring our sparkling inspirations into tangible form; home is what we protect and where we raise our children, the place to play, weep, bathe, cocoon, connect, grieve, celebrate and create. Home is our companion, our collaborator, our confidant. It is a cauldron of alchemy.
What Happens When We Forget?
We can spend hours in therapy, mining the inner world, but if we dwell in a space of clutter, chaos, or neglect, our efforts falter. We lose our orientation—our north star. We forget how to navigate the outer world from an inner stillpoint, from a center of belonging. We lose touch with the unseen aliveness of earth and cosmos. We lose sight of the simplest pleasure of washing a handmade dish, or stirring Grandmother’s soup as it simmers in the old copper pot. We lose contact with the whisperings of our own creative souls. We miss out on the richness of our families, our partners, our elders, our traditions, our rituals—all that brings meaning and fulfillment to our lives.
Yet, when we return home and once again make our living space the sacred center of our lives, it can become a source of deep safety and an accurate mirror of our true nature. When we turn our gaze toward the spirit of our home—tending to home as to our beloved—something ancient awakens. Adorned with intention and adored with conscious, consistent care, home can become a reflection of your mythic truth. It is an overlapping matrix of your ancestry, your psyche, your life experience, your unconscious. An enlivened home is one where the soul is revealed. It is the psyche on display. It is a template that can bring regulation to the nervous system and a canvas for infinite creativity. Home is the palette of a vibrant life— the bridge between body and psyche, kinship and cosmos.
Home as Living Altar
Your home is a living altar—rich with potential for practice and deep remembering. From threshold to hearth, bowl to bathtub, arrangement to relationship, every detail holds meaning and possibility. Even the smallest gesture—a swept floor, steam rising from our cup, a hand resting on worn wood—can become a ceremony of return.
No matter where you live—whether in a mansion or a tent, whether you inhabit your great-grandmother’s home or have never known lasting roots, the feeling of home can rise—unexpected and holy—in a gust of wind, a warm meal, a quiet corner. Home is not only where we dwell, but how we dwell. It gathers its form from the stories lived and the ones still whispering in your bones.
Whatever spot on earth you stand upon, the threshold is open—beckoning and awaiting your return.
