just me, just this…

These days are crisp to the touch, barely born before they slip into the jealous grasp of the long winter nights.

Without work, without many people around, hours should stretch on. But I am finding contentment in little things: puppy-dog happinesses, river walks, blue skies so bright they look like to crack, a warm bed to crawl into.

Life is quiet but not for long. This time is a blown out breath on a cold day. For a moment it hangs on the air with all the beauty of a tiny world, a cloud country. It’s nothings flow – but not for long. It is just a breath that memory will mist it out. Yet somehow that thought is peaceful, filled with thanks for the fullness of a flying moment.

I am home again.

In these last two years there have been many coming-homes to shades of nothing, to more sickness, to less time. There have been months without work or much to hang a hook on, times when life seemed so light and insubstantial that it was somehow hard to bear.

But this time I haven’t felt that weighty emptiness. The ‘I’, the still point at the centre of the slow swirl of days and nights, dawns and dusks, is just a little stronger, a little better able to support nothing and anything.

I’ve found my way to heartfelt habitual thankfulness for just what is. I have a kind of peace with what this is, whatever it is, and I’m able to see it’s beauty and hold it gently in my hands.

There is simple pleasure, a freedom, in finding myself still very much myself when I have nothing much to do and no one to be. Even without a name, a tag, label, I am known to myself, I am me.

I am here when no one is watching, when no one else sees. I think I might be a little in love – with me. From here I can forgive much, hope, and give unbidden boundless more.

This time will pass.

I am packing again. Feeling a pinch of fear, worrying I won’t have enough money, fretting over the guidebooks I haven’t read, the languages I don’t know, the fact I don’t really have much sense of even where I want to go.

But I am taking a step, travelling light and taking the best of what I have with me. I will be there.

Understand, I’ll slip quietly
away from the noisy crowd
when I see the pale
stars rising, blooming, over the oaks.

I’ll pursue solitary pathways
through the pale twilit meadows,
with only this one dream:
You come too.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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3 Responses to just me, just this…

  1. How wonderful your journey! Love the poem, but your writing is poetry.

  2. You write the PLACE the FEELING on the page.



    I adore Rilke. Lovely quote. Thank you!

  3. What a gift to have “found my way to heartfelt habitual thankfulness for what is” and to perhaps be “a little in love–with me”. Maybe that’s the truest meaning of coming home. Traveling mercies for your next journey of discovery!

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