It’s the feeling of landing in Bali, my second home where the threads of my life are interwoven for nearly 12 years. Or the sensation of sitting down on my Namaste meditation cushion to witness the flurry of thoughts pulling me this way and that. Or the ritual of unrolling my mat to visit the sanctuary of this body, the home that cradles my hopes, desires, dreams, grief, wounds, and joy.

The coming home in the warmth of my cats’ hugs. The familiarity of their breath against my neck, their hearts synchronizing with mine and the boundless love that defines our home.

Coming home.

Home has so many meanings. It carries a sense of belonging and attunement. Coming home holds a cascade of emotions within it’s wallless walls, a multidimensional flood of experiences. It is ultimately a sanctuary for the heart, and for the whole being.

Coming home.

I do a lot of coming and going, and my quest is for the sense of coming home to every place that I arrive. It’s a process of making the world my home and my home the world.

However, when I land in Bucks, into my home and into this shared community, every time feels as if the world makes sense, the exhale is a bit fuller.

Yours in yoga and at home

Alexandra