how far does the analogy between body and house extend?

"For the spirit dies not; the soul is in the body, and without a soul it cannot live. The body, when the soul forsakes it, is not. For the body is the house of the soul; and the soul the house of the spirit." - justin martyr, 150-160a.d.

"This body is not a home but an inn, and that only briefly." -seneca

"You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body." -c.s. lewis

"Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
These rebel powers that thee array;
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?"
- from sonnet 146 - shakespeare

"The body never lies." -martha graham

i like my house clean and my body dirty
i wander in and out of my house and stay firmly (mostly) in my body
my house is open to almost all, my body is...mine. sometimes yours if i say so.
i want a house with no walls and a body with strong fibers and
don't want my skin to be too thick but these days i'm careful about hyperstimulation cause i've sensitized myself carefully.
i want my house to be safe always and locked at night, and my body to be safe and capable of trusting itself to unsafeness, unlocking itself, trusting to someone else's control, able to be bruised and scratched and used and then to recover with aching grace.
i want my body to be well and i know my house will always have tensions and small problems. neither is a machine.
i want my house covered in art, life, stuff, my body to reflect my life but not to be as readable as what's on my bookshelf and my walls...i want my body to be able to feel naked and my house to never be too empty.
i want both to be built with care, fed with goodness, capable of housing many or few
i want to sometimes let the house of my body be quiet and still
i want fur on the couch but not in my cunt
i don't want couchsurfers in my body's spaces, but i want to be open to casual engagements
i want everyone who comes through to mark my house, for the smells to always change
but i want my body to be my smells, never too estranged from my own influence and control,
i want to push my senses' boundaries, open my hips as i stretch, walk and feel my legs stretching and walls bowing (bäoing?) and dissolving so that i can
communicate with my body and not just my words...
with spirit, across walls and bodies, and not just with words...
i exceed my body's dead boundedness and my body cannot be contained by my house.

"Every [person] is the builder of a temple, called [their] body, to the god [they] worship, after a style purely [their] own, nor can [they] get off by hammering marble instead. We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones." - thoreau

my body in my house,
my house in my body,
maybe i'll get a bäohaus tattoo for our upcoming bodymod day.

"Don’t lie. You know you like to view but not to buy. I have found that I am not a space where people want to live, at least not without decorating first. And that is the stubbornness in me: I do not want to be someone’s little home." -j.winterson, in "gut symmetries"

here we are

what labor we committed to in order to find each other

what searches for wheres and whens,

what riddles of this corner or the next,

this stranger's bed or that.

how we got to know one another through the voices of others

and the conversations with chance that assured us of our path.

how we danced around one another,

our lines grazing and flirting,

so close to touching but no not yet,

memorizing shared places and things,

learning of the other only through footsteps and echoes.

the way we patiently prepared to lock eyes one mere day and know

that we'd been here before

and it has the warm smell of home