In my house, there is space for people of all religions
to make art
to honor their gods
No one excluded, all offered water to drink and a biscuit to taste
I offer my love and open my heart to the many road and journeys of these pilgrims
I will bless them all
humans and other beings
among the trees that have stood for hundreds of years
They too bear witness and offer shade
In my house, there are easels and paint
should an artist stop by for tea
There are church pews for praying
and cushions, should the need to sit arise
Light streams in the stained glass windows and the one big clear one overlooking the city houses.
Everyone is welcome here.
Muslims may hang their art, worship their god,
Christians can praise Christ,
and Buddhists can be still.
In my house, nature is in every table, each bed, the bath
We don't waste water, we compost, we use kind words
We have an altar to the womb
to our ancestors, to the truth of our own fragile and temporary lives
In my house we are grateful
each time we wake up to see the sun
and we make peace with the ones we love before bedtime.
In my house, we love each other fully
feel safe to bring our honest selves, even when they're not perfect
In my house, we recognize that no ownership really exists
and no walls can define a house
Our house is this earth, and we honor all that is shared by this existence.