Sunday my mind was in turmoil: a gentle compassionate state of loneliness. Most of the time I love my solitude and guard it gladly. But sometimes, once in a great while, I long to have a different character: one that embraces a home full of acquaintences and friends, busy comings and happenings, full of movement and shy of nothing. One that has energy for everyone and every conversation, and can still go into the studio and have something to say.
But I've learned that the two don't coexist well for me. I can't, so to speak, have my cake and eat it too. In my solitude lots and lots of lovely things happen, which wouldn't be happening if I spent that creative currency elsewhere.
It's like a story from mythology, only I am both the hero and the Hydra. I'm Daedelus, the labyrinth, and the beast, altogether.
I think yesterday was a beast type of day. Just getting by, trying to find my sight and my balance, feeling not quite wholly one creature yet not another, and filled with primitive and non-rational emotions.
I spent the day in the back garden, next to a pot of tea, with my nose in a book, and the scent of the white iris filling the air. Didn't make things seem less beastly, but it didn't hurt, either. :)