The Healing House

The House that 16 Kindred Souls Built - Two Words at a Time

A sanctuary built from our own remembering.

A few days ago, I asked a simple question in our “Beyond Platitudes” chat:

“What heals you?”
The catch? You had to answer in just two words.

What followed was unexpected.
Not replies - but truths. Quiet truths. Tender truths. Hard-won truths.

This piece is a tribute to those responses - an exploration of healing, made from the language of shared wisdom, gentle defiance, and ordinary magic.

If you ask where to find it, no one will know.

But if you close your eyes, and breathe slow, and listen for the sound of your own becoming—you might feel it.
A door. A soft creak. A light inside.

Welcome to The Healing House.
It was built not with blueprints, but with whispers.
Not with bricks, but with what heals us.

Tonight, you are invited in.

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The Entryway: The First Exhale

You step inside and instantly feel it—forest stillness in the bones of the walls.
Golden sunsets painted into the windows.
A faint scent of ayurvedic oils, like memory steeped in warmth.

There’s a coat rack gently holding soft scarves and worn jackets, beside a bench with a tray of chipped coffee mugs, each one warmed by years of stories.

One mug, slightly cracked, is engraved with the words:
“Loved anyway.”

Here, even silence feels like music.

---

The Living Room: Where Connection Lives

A hearth glows with firelight ambiance, and you hear someone laughing—belly laughter, full and bright.

The sofa is soft, sunk into over the years by dog cuddles, cats sleeping, and daughter’s smiles.

Books are scattered everywhere: good books, good paper, and little handwritten notes that say things like
“You’re allowed to rest”
and
“You made it through.”

Someone pulls a blanket over your shoulders.
It smells like time and trust.

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The Kitchen: The Heartbeat

The smell wraps around you:
Nourishing food on the stove.
Salt water in the air.
Breathwork and meditation steeping in a teapot on the counter.

Here, healing doesn’t need to be profound.
It just needs to be present.

People move slowly. They make room.
Someone is chopping vegetables with reverence.
Another is stirring gratitude into a bowl of soup.

Above the pantry is a plaque that reads:
"Ancient wisdom lives in the body. Feed both."

---

The Hallway: Memory and Magic

Each framed photo along the hallway is different.
One glows with midnight serenity.
Another catches a flicker of unexpected humor.
There's one of a child looking up at the stars—beneath it, the words: “Child’s wonder.”

The wallpaper shimmers with sacred geometry, and the scent of showers, baths, and river dips lingers like incense from another life.

You pause at a mirror. Your reflection stares back, calm and unfamiliar.
The label etched on the glass says, “Perspective shifts.”

---

The Bedroom: Where Rest and Remembrance Dwell

Soft blankets. Open windows.
A breeze of morning silence.

This is the room of good rest and quiet minds.
Of time alone.
Of slow mornings.
Of tree hugs, if you can believe it.

This is the place where you leave the ache behind and let the higher self hold you.
The angels linger near this room the longest.

---

The Studio: Creation and Catharsis

You open another door to find music pulsing—loud music, messy paints, worn notebooks.

Here, healing is messy and divine.

People are journaling, brainstorming miracles, and drawing colorful pictures of things they didn’t know they still believed in.

One person is spinning in circles to singing in the car. Another is lost in co-creation games with their inner child.

The sign above the door says, “Express yourself. Or else.”

---

The Garden: Where We Remember We're Alive

Step outside.
Feel it.

Ocean waves crash in the distance.
Sunshine and movement stir the limbs.
Soil microbes hum beneath your feet.
Negative electrons buzz through the soles of your skin.
There’s laughter here—deep laughter—and something childlike in the air.

You pass by a stone bench where someone left a note:
“Multisensory engagement encouraged. Sacred places just ahead.”

In one corner, someone kneels in reverence, having a conversation with an animal—perhaps a bird, or maybe something unseen.

You sit.
You breathe.
You heal.

---

The Attic: Where the Light Touches Everything

This is where the angels gather.
They perch in rafters made of stardust and humility, marveling at what they see below:

Humans, fragile and furious and beautiful,
stitched together by intuitive guidance,
held together by grace received,
unfolding through positivity resonance,
and still, somehow, celebrating anything.

They do not interrupt.

They only watch.
And whisper among themselves,

"Look how they heal."

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And When You Leave…

You don’t close the door behind you.
You leave it cracked—just a little.

For the next person.

Because this wasn’t just a house.
This wasn’t just a list.

It was a collective heartbeat.
A map of how we come back to ourselves.
A warm, soul-lit place made of everything we almost forgot we had.

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And in the quiet...
we remember.
We are the builders.
We are the keepers.
We are the house.

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Matt DiGeronimo is a writer, thinker, and life journey strategist who simplifies the complex and challenges conventional wisdom. Please message me for public speaking or collaboration opportunities.

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