#34.21 - Home

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One room at a time

For each space, the process, the picking
The collecting, the thinking. For each moment

The deliberation and the plan.

When I write everything gains focus once more. When I write, things make sense.

The small things don't trouble me anymore. I find the distractions people use on themselves mirthless. I see right through it, the deception, the delusion. People pretending. I am fed up with people pretending. So I take refuge in the small things. The things which matter. The things we take for granted. The things which make the real difference. Like electricity. Running water. Food in the middle of winter. A roof over my head. Central heating. Things which are invisible but will be very present when they are gone. Washing machines. Showers. Simple things. Flushing loos. These are the things which I pull around myself for comfort. Everything else is just window dressing. Is us kidding ourselves.

Is us trying to pretend these things matter. In the end, nothing maters, not really except us being good to each other. As good as we can be. To this end I will finish Ruth's letter today and mail it off. I have said I will do a drawing of a bird and so I shall today. In colour pencil. A robin probably. It is easier to draw fish than birds, and colour pencil birds are easier than water colour birds. I am happiest when I create, why don't I do this more often?

Today I promise to enjoy the things I have. Promise. The running water, the shower, the electricity, the washing machine, the roof over my head. I promise I will give thanks to these things. Promise. 

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