Recapturing my Home

Immigrantness Rant
It is hard to describe how long the immigrantness yoke is felt, how many turns to debrief, discharge, come to new selfness over span of a lifetime, womb to baby consciousness, to aging elder consciousness. This rant is one way I have come to include all stages of acceptance, Love, grieving, my peace, celebration & lifestyle essence,  earth-journey  universal-nesting SuperSkyWoman proactivity for Home gratitude. ‘Da old scare lurks, but transformative reaction from constant incongruencies of human-caused atrocity Knows I don’t follow, I lead...../3/Welcome_home.htmlshapeimage_2_link_0

Mother was brought up with a french Nanny & Nonna Emma not allowed by her Steel Railroad-tie-enterprising husband Giulio to sing in public. Dad never forgot his father Felix telling him Nazi Germany was not good enough for him. When the Holocaust dispersed us, Italian exit visas came first, Germans with difficulty, we  three females arrived in early 1939 to a shyster lawyer not vouching us off our ship. Dad escaped 18 months later. Each had exquisite wits to sopravivere, a word non-existent in ‘America’, meaning more than survive, rise to highest order of competence despite all odds. Think ‘The Garden of the Fintzi Contini’, our 7th cousins not as fortunate as we were. Mom adapted, while grandfather Felix died of a broken Heart, his home and garage business occupied by the Nazi’s.  Returning to his grave  impossibly, as the Jewish cemetery no longer had maps, I found my grandfather’s casket under vines, mezuzah toppled, & two four leaf clovers at head  & foot.

ROME was the last Ghetto liberated signaling walls to come down, ANCONA the first Ghetto liberated. My great great grandfather, a sephardim & 1st RABBI of Ancona, having power over domestic rules, made it possible in 1812 for the JEWS to travel internationally. Liberation works for me. Being bound by anyone strikes an ancient panic. Mother’s family became cosmopolitan, moving from Ancona to Genova to Rome where mother grew up, married a German in Genova, gave birth to me & escaped by ocean liner with me & Nonna Emma. Dad  confronted his own escapes...

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& all ‘da 17 years I shared my bedroom with you, Nonna, Sabbath no work, reading your torah pinned to your breast...
We needed to talk here about my history. My present evolutionary path depends on you understanding there is only one thing in life that elevates our meme vibrations, the choice we make for outcomes to be better than we can imagine at every downturn. If we believe this by practicing, as I did by living in the same room with the most non-violent person I ever could know, my Nonna Emma, then my evolutionary path for my HOME is perfectly understood as way beyond survival!
Living in a drawer during our escape may have conditioned me to adapt to living anywhere, and everywhere but nowhere, called Home. Where I settle last has always been my next closest “feeling at home”. Memory jogs each past home-action, like proverbial ‘nine lives of a cat’, each a part of one hologram called Home. One part, dirty fingernails has deepened my love & commitment for eschewing industrial-menial-mania remnants of misunderstood agricultural and city sewer mentality for wanting Earth as my nesting HOME...