Virus thing is hanging around and I almost have the sense that it is trying to re-boot. I am being, perforce, patient. Goodness knows if I have not learned that much in twenty five years then it would be a pretty poor show and it does not come as a surprise to find myself almost completely grounded with most reading and writing privileges denied on account of neurological disturbance. Blogging, it seems, is ok - in small doses. Apart from the pre-Valentine lunch on Sunday, I have not left Signs Cottage for a week and a half. I have cancelled two choir practices, two writing sessions, dentist, book group, weekend visitors, Brighton, a poetry reading. It suddenly feels as though my life - for a PWME, at any rate - has become too busy, though I am careful to have spaces in between things. For now, though, everything has stopped. If there were an old-fashioned Grandfather clock in the house I could listen to its tick and tock. Times when one watches the moments, listens to them as they pass: tick, and tick, and tick.
The solitude imposed by these times, in spite of the restrictions, is by now a familiar guest - a friend, almost. I would prefer it to come alone and unencumbered, without the attendant symptoms.
A present came through the post today: a white key in a black box. It looks beautiful and potent, talismanic. To unlock the space between tick and tock, slip through. Find the point of exit, of entry.
7 comments:
"Idleness," is a value of these classical Chinese poets I'm reading. Translator David Hinton writes, " . . . idleness is a kind of meditative reveling . . . in which daily life becomes the essence of spiritual practice." Spiritual practice or not, you catch the subtle tick tock texture and rhythm. Tick and tock seem like the "two doors" of the gate. The pictograph for idleness, hsien, is a moon shining thru an open gate or a single tree "standing alone within the gates of a courtyard." I hope this virus is on the wane and the neuro-storm abates.
Often what we are forced to do, others would pay to do. Irony.
That's nice, Mim. A good image. Daily life is certainly a "practice."
Zhoen, people long for solitude, yes.
When I was first ill...or so ill I could no longer work, I visited a very wise old homoepath. There were aspects of my symptoms that he was able to help me with homeopthically but the most valuable thing he said to me was 'You have to learn to watch the day.'
That phrase really stuck with me. At the time I honestly had no idea what he meant, though I tried and tried to fathom it: I was so used to rushing about between jobs, home, sick parents and wearing a mantle of wellness to hide how awful I really felt...... but gradually I cane to realise what he meant.
Solitude and quiet is good....watching the day is healing.
We PWME are delicate creatures. It doesnt take much to upset the balance.
Rest well and watch the days (*)
yes the quiet of solitude - good not to fight it. Intrigued by that key - I can see it, but can't place it in the real world... Hope the virus backs off..
What a beautiful way you have with atmosphere and expression!
The space between tick and tock is something I will be remembering in those words even as I've lived it for decades.
As you generously remarked on your visit to my blog, we seem to have much in common in our spaces between time.
Peace.
Cusp, "watching the day" is a pefectly accurate way of saying how it is. Good to have something like that to add to one's vocabulary.
Fire Bird, it is a real (art object) white key - I should photograph it really. In the real world, but also not :)
hiddenlives, hello - good to see you here.
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