It is quite like moving into a new home.
First you bring with you the bare essentials, and you’re truly amazed at how little you really need to survive. Then, you envision how you’d fill up this vast, mostly-empty space, with all your furniture. And then your belongings arrive, and you set about the task.
You heave a sigh of relief as you piece together your last item of furniture. “There,” you say, as you stand back and marvel at all the work you’ve put in.
Sure, the sofa looks a little too big along that wall, but would look way too small elsewhere. There’s barely enough space to squeeze in the bedside table beside the bed, but for now you leave it there, knowing you can figure out an alternative later.
All the same, it finally begins to feel like a place you can live in forever. And when the place starts to grow on you, and you yearn for a change, you need not move again. Change one thing here. Another thing there. Keep it alive.
The trick is to always have the right combination of something new and some other thing familiar. Something borrowed from the future, and something claimed from the past. Juxtaposing one with the other. All in the present moment.
Right here. Right now.
This is my home now. This is my forever place.
The place where words move and fill up rooms of stories and dreams, never settling in any one place for long enough to gather cobwebs. For that is the thing about dreams and stories. They are forever in motion. They never stand still.