I am sitting quietly, listening to the woosh of the ventilation and the zing and buzz of my tinnitus. Just that, nothing more. Some minutes pass before I consider my keyboard or my thoughts. I just sit awhile, with this infinite seeming moment. It’s isn’t though; it’s quite finite and mortal and limited by this space and whatever time and attention I give it. Just a moment. Sometimes a moment seems so fragile and fleeting. A metaphorical drop in the bucket of a lifetime of moments…but…how big is that bucket, anyway?
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my coffee. I give a bit of attention to the pain in my neck, my back, my headache, and then move on; my thoughts are elsewhere. Here. Now. Just being. I’m not doing anything right now – other than making a point of noticing the stillness, and this moment, and writing a few words before letting stillness and quiet overtake me again. I exhale slowly, hearing my breath and noticing that the sounds of the ventilation, my breath, and my tinnitus all seem quite “the same volume”. I’m not certain they are, particularly considering the “sound” of my tinnitus isn’t a “real” sound at all – no one hears that but me.
I stretch, and sigh, and adjust the way I’m sitting in this rather uncomfortable office chair. It’ll be a day of it, though a short one. I see a new doctor today. For a moment I wonder how that will go, and whether I’ve chosen well or poorly. I put all that aside, again; the time is not now. “Now” is just this moment, here. Quiet. Still. Alone. It’s quite pleasant and… something else. Fulfilling? Satisfying? Peaceful. For a moment (this moment) there is no chaos. This is a chosen, deliberate, willful thing. I am choosing peace and order in this solitary moment. It isn’t much, as peace and order goes, and it surely does nothing noteworthy to improve the state of our messy chaotic terrifying world – but it is here, and now, and it is real. (No one is dying in this moment, in this place. Real peace. I’m choosing it. You can too. So can “they” – and by “they” I mean all those beyond these walls who are choosing to kill, or to send others to fight and kill and die. Those are most definitely choices and could be handled quite differently.)
I sigh quietly, annoyed to have let my thoughts slip from this moment to other moments, other places – other intentions. I pull my mind back, and begin again. Here. Now. This moment. This place. This feeling of peace and contentment and stillness.
Later this week The Author will visit me and my Traveling Partner, and I am eager to see him – it’s been too long. 2016? 2017? Something like that, I think. I remember his visit to help me move into #59… or was it the duplex? Was it both? He’s a good friend – willing to help with a move. Hell, he helped me move to Portland from Fresno, both of us driving vehicles not ideally up for that challenge. That’s friendship, right there. This has been an enduring friendship since we first met… 1996? I think so. He has visited me. I have visited him (though less often). I think about making a trip down his way maybe this Spring – if my Traveling Partner is up to being without me for a few days when that time comes. Could be fun. A chance to see many old friends, and renew those with shared moments and new memories. A worthwhile endeavor.
I smile and my thoughts move on. I look at the time, reluctantly. The work day calls for my attention. My coffee is almost gone. Daybreak is visible on the horizon, beyond the windows. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 