Sleeping rough, series 2 – Episode 7: WalkMan

I remember taking refuge in the music in my ears. Music! A voice directed at me. It had been days since I heard a voice directed at me. Longer even since I spoke myself. An now this. Carefully I hummed along with the song that I knew vaguely.

Holy Spirit

When I did my shopping earlier this morning, I forgot to remember it is Whitsun this Sunday. So Monday is a holiday too and all shops will be closed. But I did remember in time to get myself at least one more carton of milk. And while I was at it, I picked up a box with eggs and some cheese too.

Best Love Songs Ever – share them!

All the better songs in Pop culture have a main theme that concerns itself with either love or with death. Both are indeed of the utmost importance.

Only very few songs are really good. Those are the songs our parents like and we like and our children like too. We hum them without further thought as we do the dishes. They get covered in all styles. They resonate in our hearts. Most of these songs that are that good, have this unnamed quality to them. They describe life itself, somehow.

Sleeping rough, series 2 – Episode 6: “My Dear Mother”

My fingers ran gently along the polished wood of the table as I took refuge in the wellness of my being. I carefully picket up the small knife and admired the craftsmanship with which it was made. It was old silverware. The china on the table was beautiful too. Not too ostentatious, delicate non the less. And expensive. I could see that. I put down the knife again and put my hands in my lap. I retreated to my being and found refuge in how well it was. Complete, whole, resting in itself. Within breath.

Sleeping rough, series 2 – Episode 5: Loving heart

I could not find any refuge. There was no refuge. Finding refuge is an illusion. Don’t fuck with me. Don’t fuck with my mind. I am no fool. There was no refuge to be found anywhere. Neither in my senses, nor in my thoughts. Definitely not in anything of the world either. I felt chased like shot game. Hunt down like a fox that got separated from its burrow by a pack of hounds. My breathing always superficial and high up in my chest. All of my tired muscles tense and ready to jump and run. My hands clutched ready to use the fists in my pockets to my defence. My eyes open even when I fell asleep. Sleep so I would not die, but never relax.

Surrender – Haiku #29

 

 

where wind stills itself

Sleeping rough, series 2 – Episode 4: “Hush now”

I remember taking refuge in the sharp, distinct and sparkling glow on the edge of the knife. The sun reflecting. It was bright and white and it moved back and forth along the curve of the knife as the knife moved up and down a bit in the hand of Rem. It was hypnotising and I noticed my breathing connected with the movement of that glow, up and down, back and forth, in and out. Very superficially, but still breathing. In… and out again…