The day after
Everything vanishes around me, and works are born as if out of the void. Ripe, graphic fruits fall off. My hand has become the obedient instrument of a remote will. — Paul Klee
I'm exhausted today.
In fact, getting up was really hard.
To be honest, I'm not sure what to say other than it's going to take the Perring family a long time to get over Brian's death.
Actually, that's not what I mean.
They'll never 'get over' anything. Why should they? It will be a case of living, as best they can, with their deep, profound grief, and holding fast to a bushel of wonderful memories to allow them to see and remember all that Brian offered the world — which was vast.
I'm back to work today. I can't say I've got any enthusiasm for it. In fact, I'm not sure I can face the inanity of the conversation that goes with the business-as-usual, let's-all-move-on whether it's in relation to Brian's death or the whole Covid19 pandemic. I don't want to say that the few people who know of his death haven't been sympathetic but they didn't know him or my relationship with him, and it feels not altogether real when they say, "I'm sorry for your loss".
The truth is I'd rather be alone today — and a long way from my desk. The weather's not great, but me and Alfie don't mind that. In fact, I'd like it to be really grotty outside so that I can embrace my humanness. (Isn't it strange but as I'm typing these last few words Nina Simone starts playing through my headphones and it seems so perfectly fitting right now.)
I did think I'd take a few days away from writing these posts but I'm scared I might never return or the juice will have completely emptied out. That said, I do need to sit down and have a serious conversation with myself about what exactly I'm trying to achieve with this early-morning outpouring of words, pictures and the occasional live broadcast. I mean, does the world really need more finger-wagging protests at the state of our lives and the world? I'm not so sure. Part of me wonders if all this existential, woo-woo material should be lived out for the rest of my natural days and never spoken about again. I mean, to awaken doesn't mean to proselytise does it? If it does, it's at risk of becoming just another financially-driven episode in my life and not something where I'm deeply grounded in a faith that says we're all a perfect expression of nature and we'll do what we'll do, go where we'll go and, to that extent, any course correction that's made will not be as a result of anything I say or do.
If not a complete cessation of creativity activity then perhaps one day I'll come to a place of deep solemnity, grace and forgiveness where I won't feel the need, as I still do, to write and to share something so profound as awakening to true self (or being true self would be a better way to describe things) but until then, well, I'll go where I go etc. and if that means you've got to put up with my prognostications (unless of course you unplug or unfollow me), then so be it.
Blessings to you all,
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