The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Domestic Life

Home is not a place, but an en-habiting.
En-habiting: patterns of dwelling-in-the-world that cohere into habit.
Habit: playing the melody of being.

We are worlds, in worlds, among worlds.

We incarnate a world through the interconnection between flesh and other;
the internal appears in the experience of touch -- in otherflesh.
This internal is the appearance of the I, but this I alone remains only a possibility.

The I en-worlds (and is en-worlded by) the no-thing,
the space of possibility that is also absolute nothingness.

The no-thing is the ground of en-worlding,
the given absence that allows nature to en-place itself and so en-world.

'World' as 'reality' is just this: the no-thing.
There is no 'world' in this sense as thing, only absence en-worlded by presence.

The no-thing is transformed into placetime by the indwelling of being,
intertwined beings-in-worlds worlding-together,
the constellation that constitutes this-here-now.

This: is. Here: with. Now: us.

Home is an expression of placetime,
The this-here-now that being-together chords,
Being as harmony.

The home of being is togethering.

The work is done through all, if not by every one. – Margaret Fuller, Summer on the Lakes in 1843

Image: Fishermen By A Lake by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (n.d.)