The House I Left Behind
May 13, 2026
I walked far that day.
The day the soldiers came.
I didn’t look back, for fear I would be buried with the villagers I knew as family.
I took a boat to a country, where the air was hot and the soil parched.
I obliterated the past with hot rum and filtered tobacco.
I became a certain kind of man with a certain kind of life.
The house I left behind, stands like a wizened warrior.
It has no place in this present time.
If I had the strength in my bones, I would make a fire and burn it to the ground.
Then I would sit in the ashes and finally wail.
Like the grieving mother I left behind, the day of my departure.
As a sacred hospitality expert, I work with the wisdom, energy and stories of the land. This usually involves being able to feel and sense what land and buildings have held by human inhabitants. The stories come as images or sensations. My poetry is often informed by these experiences. As if in the present - via the written word, I can bear witness to the past.
Land which has experienced human conflict and battles, needs the most honouring and tender recognition. On my journey through Portugal, I have seen many old ruined houses, with echoes of the past. I wrote ‘The House That I Left Behind’ after discovering a whole village, which had been deserted in the last century. It’s always poignant to be the alchemist, transmuting and releasing sorrow into the light. I do this sacred work, to bring joy back to places which have done their grieving, and want to return to their singing. Their highest harmonic expression.
Only by divine grace, can I walk this path.
Julia.