Part of my experience in being displaced is to yearn for a home.
There's no place I can call home right now, in a physical sense. I'm longing for something that, unlike for Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, evaporates the moment I wake up instead of having been there all the time.
In Buddhism, there's this lovely piece of advice (perhaps it's a commandment, but that's oh so authoritarian):
Be ye lamps unto yourselves.Perhaps there is no refuge, no sanctum sanctorum, no real estate that is real if it is outside oneself and the infinite resources within.
Be ye a refuge unto yourselves.
Betake yourselves to no external refuge.
Hold fast to the truth as a lamp.
Hold fast as a refuge to the truth.
Still, I'd love a little beach cottage, with a studio for painting, a room for guests, a spot to garden, a partner to share it with, and no way in hell somebody can kick me off my land.
Just putting it out there.