‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to heal … break down … weep … refrain from embracing … lose … cast away … rend … keep silence’ (Ecclesiastes 3.1-7).
WFH: DAY 124. 7.30 am: Here we are again. I’m alive; and that’s quite something. This is a ‘day of small things’ — of finding pleasure in what might otherwise be overlooked:
8.15 am: A communion. 8.45 am: I would work until lunchtime, and then take the afternoon off. While my movements in the outer world have been narrowly circumscribed during the pandemic, my inward journey has taken me far and wide. I’ve travelled with others to the boundary of belief, and looked over the edge. I’ve descended into the depths of my depravity and ascended God’s holy hill. I’ve lost the way and found the path (again and again and again); I’ve climbed to the summit of my own ‘holy’ mountain, lay back with the sunshine on my face, clasped the grass, and watched the clouds pass westward. The storm has shaken the dead leaves from the tree. The branches — now exposed and vulnerable — wait for the Spring and the promise of new life. ‘Happy is the man … ‘.
9.00 am: I opened and re-listened to yesterday’s sound sample:
This was a time for small adjustments. ‘Close your eyes and feel the measures, John!’, he whispered. The silences were like short breathes taken-in in moments of recognition and recovery between waves of quiet ecstasy. 11.30 pm: The form had resolved. ‘Attend to the volume differentials too, John!’
A reflection upon the unresolved and irresolution:
12.30 pm: The matter was settled.