coasting into pure being
I've been saying it too often lately, but this week has felt like seven generations of myself have passed through this tired brain and body. It has made tonight's goodness even good-er. I enter my house in solitary reflection as I used to enter St. Mark's cathedral - in awe of the sacred, anticipating a message from the cosmos, eager for the communion of wine. I turn on Debussy, I pre-heat the oven. Each movement feels important; turning on a bedroom light becomes a whispered prayer as in vigilant lighting of a candle for your soul. The unintentional intentionality of cooking, pouring, cheersing friends in solo whispers. I am happy to feel happy to be alive.
I am buoyed by you this week, your gentle eyes reading without judgement, your helpful email, your quiet ache for me, your determination to write me a letter, your driving to visit me, your making me laugh, your helping me see, your meeting me for a glass of wine, your commitment to refrain from flattery and love me true.
It is pure.