Sure on Sand

Sure on SandI see the world as mutable.
Life built on shifting sand.

I’m fine with this actually;
It’s a comforting feeling.

There are hard places
And abrasive times
That I’m insulated from
By this belief in fluidity.

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Virginia Woolf

I seem to have developed a fixation on Virginia Woolf. I find myself wondering what it would be like to talk to her and spend some time with her.

Then, a few moments ago, it struck me that there are people alive today who will, in the future, be revered in much the same way that Virginia Woolf is today.

Anyone out there have any candidates in mind for this singular distinction? I’d be indebted to you if you would tell me who you have in mind – I’d love to have a word with them.

Hey, wait just one cotton-picking-minute – perhaps it’s you!

Escape from Life

Contrary to expectations, the world is easier to navigate with my eyes closed!

Allow me to explain.

I finished a book before I thought I would and so I find myself walking the streets without my mind buried in a book. And, so you know what – the world is a far scarier place when you watch it closely.

Crossing the road was a breeze when reading a book – I just assume that the world is an essentially benevolent place with people looking out for each other and so just step into traffic without a care in the world.

When I have no book, the world seems to be a lot busier than I thought. People in cars whizz here and there without a care and I find myself pausing much longer before I step into the road.

It occurs to me that keeping my head stuck in a book as I walk is one way of hiding from a fearsome world. But actually, when I get used to it (after walking naked (metaphorically speaking) for twenty minutes or so) the world switches seamlessly to benevolent again.

Am I escaping from life into a good book, or am I merely enhancing it with extra input? Who knows! Do you?

Gay Gene

I’m reading Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Wolfe. I read that VG ‘had a few lesbian affairs in her life’.

I’ve never had any lesbian (or gay) affairs but my uncle on my mother’s side has (or had; he passed away several years ago) and so has my aunt on my dad’s side.

All of this and this got me to thinking about gayness and the possibility of hereditable components. Am I scathed? Not overtly. But, who knows what lurks within! Who indeed.

Making up God

I meditate quite often. Daily. Some of it verges on prayer. Last night I meditated on God, which mainly involved putting a dot of light above me (in my mind) and calling it God and then focussing on it (or praying to it if you like).

When I’d done (if one can truly be said to have done meditating) I came away with the feeling that I had been inventing God.

I say that, because God doesn’t speak to me and say things like ‘Hi, I’m God’ or ‘Goodnight Robert, this is God – sleep well.’ God doesn’t reach out to me in any way that causes me to think ‘Ah yes – there’s God passing by’ or ‘God’s with me.’

All I get is a nebulous sense of peace and contentment or a feeling of silence and space. If this is God then all well and good, but …

It’s just that I kind of expected God to be more localised. This spacious, nebulous impression just feels like something that happens when I sweep the floor of my mind; when I clear away the debris of thought.

If God is peace and love and nothing more than that, then that’s it – I’m in daily contact with the Supreme Being.

But if not, then I’m rather left with a made up God.

Anyone else feel like this?

dǒngshì

I’m devouring a book called Quiet by Susan Cain
But that’s not why you seldom hear my words.

I’m eating crisps that make my mouth hurt
But that’s not why my words are knives.

I’m pressing sharply against your belly
But that’s not why you’re bleeding.

And still my mind whirls dizzily.
And still I shorten my tongue.