Monday 26 April 2021

Contentedness.

I often find myself feeling a need to feel something about everything. Or, at least, I anticipate feeling something. I'm supposed to have an opinion on this or that, I'm supposed to love that person, hate another, feel giddy after that experience, feel scared after this one. And when I feel nothing I feel strange. Like I'm floating. 

But the thing is feeling nothing is not nothing, it is contentedness. I feel happy. Not ecstatic, not in love, not happy sad, not amused, just happy. And it is a strange feeling to get your head around because it doesn't do much. It just sits there and for a moment or two absolutely everything is okay. It is what comes from being relaxed. It's what I've been striving for. It's what I get to occasionally, then forget to appreciate, and then something comes along that heightens my emotions one way or another and I have to work or wait to get back to this. This slowness, this level and pleasant feeling of happy. 

I will not be rushing out of my contentedness this time. I will not think to hard about it either. I will just sit with it, pay it a quiet observance, and wonder aimlessly about the next thing that might disturb it in a way that is pleasant or unpleasant. I will just float, I suppose. 

Friday 9 April 2021

This is it.

Today I sat in the garden on the new furniture mum bought in the sun which was shining with its new spring warmth. In a rare lockdown moment, I was alone in the house. I had just made a coffee, which spilled ribbons of stream into the air next to me, making interesting patterns on the surface of the liquid. I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply. I heard the birds chattering to each other, and the soft breeze in the trees. I opened my eyes. I could see the orange and purple pansies mum had planted, the tall daffodils waving at me. I looked up and two red kites swooped over each other, playing acrobatics in the wind. 

And I stayed very still, for a moment or two, and I thought "well, this is is it, isn't it?" And it was.