a rat in a bin - tpw[l] - 20
Updated: Aug 31, 2020
The Perfect Wor[l]d - 20
Some incredible coincidences and synchronicities I have observed lately but I am not ready to write about them openly here, for now.
I know I need to replenish the well, so I went to Witton Park with just a book.
I found this lovely spot next to the pond, just for myself, with the back resting on a tree. There were people on another bench, but I didn’t feel disturbed. It rained on me! So, I moved to that hidden table that few people know about, but I scared a flipping rat who was rummaging in the bin. I sat there for a while, but I felt very uncomfortable. I feel there is a hand pushing me somewhere else, moving me.
I sit, it rains; I move. I sit, there’s a rat; I will definitely move!
Today, instead of writing or reading, I went shopping and later, before dinner, I even slept on the sofa for about 30 minutes. Something is telling me to quiet the mind and the body and recuperate energies, all of them: emotional, spiritual, physical.
I have also been thinking a lot about the death of Andrea Camilleri (more on the Guardian here). He was one of the most interesting, astute, proficient writers I have ever read. His are all the books about Inspector Montalbano. One of the lessons I learned from him, besides a very precise use of the language, is that he started writing Montalbano at the age of 60. He published his first Montalbano book, The Shape of Water, in 1994 (here). He died today at 93. Between 1972 and 1992 he only wrote and published two other books; and since 1994, 27. This, to me, means that I have time: I have all the time I want to write. It is never too late. Susan Boyle was discovered when she was 49, I believe. Montalbano found his vein and his character at the age of 60.
I spent the rest of the evening reading from A Philosophy of Walking (here), about the concept of journey and pilgrimage, which is something I am doing myself now, in a way. Not really a journey as such, but a journey of the soul, climbing back out, moving forward, collecting new things, but also leaving things, people, and ideas behind. For example, I don’t think I am a 45-day woman anymore (that is the average length of any of my relationships after which I feel a desperate need to leave). I think I can last longer now if the relationship is worth experiencing. I am still a flat-pack-man woman, of course. I like to know if the man I am with is able to use tools and assemble things, fix, repair, and mend: that’s my man! But I believe that the threshold of the 45 days is something I am potentially ready to leave behind.
In this way, I will continue my pilgrimage in exploring who I am, taking my time to stop in relevant places and honouring time and the lessons I am learning. My writing and this particular experience have now become almost ritualistic and, finally, writing has taken centre stage in my life.
This is my life. My life as an observer and then a writer.
I am also aware that I will shortly go back to college for my final year and that I will also go back to work. This means that this writing might slow down and will not be as regular as it started. But I have promised myself that I will do my best.
And this is good enough for me.
In Honour of Andrea Camilleri
Porto Empedocle 6 SEPT 1925 - Rome 17 JUL 2019
Thank you ♥
© mtomat 2019 - written on 17.07.19 - no reproduction without permission.
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