The Inner Child Knows Not of Home ✨
When one sees this caption, isn’t the first reaction, “aww, how sad”? Or is it?
A few months ago, In meditation, I received the word té-cay-ah. Again, in another meditation it repeated, and this time I looked up the root of the word home, intuitively.
The root: tḱey-
Imperfective root meaning "to settle, to live, to dwell."
Indeed.
Of course, I had to ask Chat, because I thought perhaps it held the French accent aigu—and I was correct.
Spiritual / Meditative Layers
In meditation, sometimes the mind offers mantra-like syllables that don’t belong to a dictionary but carry vibration:
Té → high, clear sound (like the crown chakra tone).
Cay/Kay → grounding syllable (linked with quay = a place where journeys start).
Ah → universal release sound in many traditions (breath, surrender, heart opening).
Put together, té-cay-ah feels like:
✨ “Clear light at the dock of breath.”
✨ A syllabic mantra, like So-ham or Om mani padme hum.
I sat with this. Am I processing another abandonment/adoption thing? A child who knows not of home? How sad.
But then I understood: it is not sad at all.
To settle, to live, to dwell—clear light at the dock of breath.
The inner child who knows not of home, knows not of object or subject, of place, belonging, or absence. The inner child knows not of leaving something behind, nor of its lack. There is no deficit.
St. John told us in the Bible, and Christina once led us there in meditation—to té-cay-ah, to Zero Point:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made.
In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
Maybe té-cay-ah is not a state of being, not a place, not an ending. Perhaps it is not where we return—it is where we come from. The beginning.
The inner child is the dwelling in clear light at the dock of breath. Imagine your own creation—being that breath. As a child is born, everyone waits for that first cry, that is sacred pause. Somewhere deep inside, we know that moment is holy. Yet once the breath is taken, it is no longer té-cay-ah. It cannot remain docked as pure light.
From the moment of té-cay-ah, we are created—and we become purpose.
Paul McCartney sang of this purpose in Blackbird:
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
The inner child knows not of home by design. The inner child is the exhalation of God’s whimsy. We don’t long for “home” as much as we long to be God’s exhaled whimsy (not exalted)—that one, unrepeatable moment of becoming.
The inner child knows of Godly breath—whimsical, purposeful—and longs, from the second breath onward, for the love of being created in that unimaginable instant.
The inner child knows not of home because it knows of God’s whimsy—“the light of the dark black night.”
In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
Indeed. Whimsy.
