Water...

 I am already home. If to be home already brings the possibility of having never left, It might follow then that strong arms have always held me safely:   Strong arms of my own existential beingness. These thoughts rolled through my mind as a I fitfully slept the other night.  There is fear.  There is storm.  There is peace and shelter in the inner sanctum--even for a free-thinker/atheist such as myself. The shelter within: fortress, bulwark, hearth, walls, gates, doors, windows. A castle secure from the onslaught of exterior circumstances.  I might say I am a castle impregnably stalwart.  Perhaps death is one enemy that I won't vanquish--thankfully.  And then there is this feeling: castle feels cold.   Home feels warm.  Warmth of hearth, joy of good family meals, chatter, companionship, all that it means to be at home, and be home.  It seems to me like it should be shoes kicked off, just pure relaxation. Storms do rage, for a time.  They are without.  Maybe there is a castle part