My previous post "In remembrance of me" was a mishmash of notes for a talk I gave and echoes from a book I had read. I've just finished another book by the same author, even more whacky, and yet there is stuff in it that stirs my being and which I can identify with. I by no means understand it all - I think it is not even meant to be fully understood. To me it aptly describes those often random and scary thought processes that murmur in one's sub-consciousness but sometimes erupt into the conscious. The stuff dreams are made of. And the indistinct division between what is real and what is imagined. And how that line grows less distinct with the passage of time. And that what really matters often consumes such a very small portion of our day-to-day living.
A passing smile on a child's face. A bouquet of flowers. A beautiful sunset. Realising that you have touched another's heart. Undeserved kindness received. The deep, velvet taste of good chocolate. The warmth of the sun on an otherwise cold day. That illusive feeling of well-being that warms to the core. Autumn colours. The cold chill effect of some music. Lying, warm, in bed after a hard day's work. Knowing that you are loved. The relief waking from a nightmare. Driving home after a visit to the dentist. An aroma that triggers a fond childhood memory.
No comments:
Post a Comment