Courtesy of Amara Rose

By Amara Rose

Home. Except for love, perhaps no word in
the English language conjures more evocative imagery. We crave the
cozy, nurturing, roaring-fire scene depicted so effectively on film.
Home houses our identity. It's less about the four walls than what they
represent: "the abode of one's affections, peace or rest," according to
Webster’s. At some point in our lives, many women (and men, if
they will admit to it) harbor a fearful fantasy of becoming a "bag
lady," carting our belongings out on the street. We see the homeless
and quake—"there but for the grace of God go I."

What we're
seeking is a sense of security inside ourselves, a home within that can
never be taken away. As national boundaries dissolve and corporations
invite poets and spiritual mentors into their boardrooms, the hunger
for this broader definition of home has never been greater.

Creating
this inner sanctuary will entail a quantum shift for many of us: out of
the competitive, "what's in it for me" worldview into a more
collaborative, compassionate perspective in which the operative
question becomes, "How can I serve?"

For instance, as record
numbers of us skate toward elderhood, home care has become a hot topic.
What does this mean? On one level, "home care" is about providing
caregiving in the home to enable our elders and homebound to remain in
their comfort zones. But the larger view begs our attention. Before we
can care for our home, we need to know it viscerally. We must embody
the place of wholeness that wants to be born in us.

Our own
bodies and the planetary body are inextricably linked. Anthropologist
Gregory Bateson speaks of "the pattern that connects," the common
ground of our unity. We exist in relationship to everyone and
everything else on Earth. What kind of home care is our aging Mother
receiving? Maybe that's the real key to conscious aging: caring for the
personal and the planetary with equal reverence.

In other
societies, the old ones are the keepers of wisdom. So-called primitive
cultures that honor their tribal elders also honor the land in which
they live. "Home care" is a unified practice for them, as indigenous as
the planting and the reaping, as natural as celebrating life's
quotidian rhythms with ritual.

In this visionary view, we're all
caregivers—Earth stewards, some say. Home care for our elders is rooted
in how we create home in our daily lives. What kind of home do we want
to cultivate and care for, inside ourselves, interpersonally, and as
part of the collective "home body" we inhabit?

Try this: for
the next week, take a time-out from worrying about the economy, your
teenager's pierced body parts, and the latest virus scare to live into
the larger questions about the quality of life you're choosing in every
moment, by the way you live, by what you do and don't honor. Does your
definition of home serve you? Is it inclusive or exclusive? Will your
practice of home care help create a sustainable future for us all?

Within
a decade, for the first time in human history, the number of people in
the world aged 65 and older will exceed that of children under five. If
you're not already among this exalted majority, one day you will look
in the mirror and see your grandmother's or grandfather's eyes. Will
they reflect the wisdom of generativity, of the home that you carry
with you always, as a turtle does, caring for it because it is an
intrinsic part of you?

Native Americans call this planet Turtle Island. I imagine this is what they mean.