On being alone....

Separating oneself from the crowd is difficult. It requires a mental state as well as a physical one. It requires taking a position that will distance you from the crowd, take you away from the game and separate you from the social clutter. It is best done on a warm Sunday afternoon in Spring, just after lunch. It is timely when the family has left and the dishes need washing.

On being alone

Most days I crave for a decent conversation. One I can understand, be a useful contributor, learn from, relate to. I want to ask questions and be asked. I want to be fascinated by new ideas and have my own ideas challenged. I want to hear of distant places, messages from home, something funny, dramatic and even just plain dull. I want to hear the sweet voice of excitement and the resonance of somber thought. I want to hear a new joke and not know when to laugh and an old joke and laugh too soon. I want to see the tears of joy and sorry and frustration as I hear about families and friends and enemies. I want to know what is new and what is news, to contemplate the future and analyze the past. How nice it would be to pause in mid-sentence, be interrupted or be lost for words, hear a raised voice or move close to a whisper, struggle with an accent or dialect and chuckle at the idiosyncrasies of slang. What I would give to have that.
Most days I spend alone.

Staring back #9

I often have the feeling, when taking photos, that I am being watched. The paraniod mentality I carry with me is my own doing. Pointing a camera is intrusive, secretive, invasive, impersonal and anti-social. It's no wonder people stare back with suspicion and hostility. I'd like to think we can share the space in between. That space doesn't seem to belong to anyone in particular. Maybe we can share it.

Staring back #8

Staring back at the possibilities isn't always a good idea. Looking for another way might be fraught with problems and no solution. If you want some light shed onto the darkness, either flick the switch or open the blind. Either way will get a result. Staring at the alternatives will simply keep you in the dark for that much longer.

Staring Back #7

It's a dangerous place out there, among the rips and sharks, especially if you are a poor swimmer. But this is summer. We are expected to be foolish and carefree. Too much sun, too much food, swim out a little further each time, catch a bigger wave, swim outside the flags, occasionally staring back at the shore to see if anyone is noticing how brave you are. Risk is part of summer, of feeling good about yourself, of learning, of growing up and being just that much better that your little brother or keeping up with your big brother.
After all, we are all protected by a flapping yellow and red cloth on a stick.

Staring Back #6

Life isn't perfect. Far from it. It has its moments, mind you, when it seems that way, but only for some. And its nothing to do with what's out there. It's just how we stare back at it. We go about our business, sorting and reshuffling things, ideas, consequences, feelings and the change in our pockets. Every now and again we count it up and realize we just have enough to get by, to buy the paper or catch the bus or have a cuppa on the way to more shuffling and sorting. Its not the big moments that make life perfect, its the little ones, the expected ones, the repeatable ones, the normal ones. Its the times when you stare at life and it stares back and all is well, just for a moment.

Staring back #10

I'd like to find an analogy to life here, or at least some symbolism. For some of us there might well be such proximity to our wistful thoughts; a sense of beauty in life or eternal peace or tolerance or foreboding. Every day we can see life staring back at us in some form or other, telling us how it could be or should be; clichés for greeting cards and small books found in the wellbeing section of all good books stores.
Today it's the smell of wheat and the comfort of daisies that stares back at me. I acknowledge them and move on, leaving it for someone else who might miss the pleasure of things.