SOC Writings _ 16th October 2020

The tingles

They go up and down my spine – settle in my bum - and I am overcome with who and what and why I am becoming. The sandpit of my life with toys and rivers, broken things and yet the whole experience makes up me. The brittle and the tasty – testy and feisty – this music score arrives through the object of being in you own life. Being in your life - like not trying to horde and accumulate everything for yourself – but – make sure the measures are in place so that you are healthy on the inside – so as the outside – to become is to have a voice inside the choice – or rather open to the other with the virulent strains of your own personal diversity – giving all the good things because you have enough – like the woman with only one coin who seems to give joyously. You can live with you – on the inside and the outside – a tingly, lightness of being - one with all the field of colour and shadow rushing at you, you rushing at it – why the split? – why the us and them? – why the constant dying to self when you can fucking live to all! All about the food I am – and the drink – Tom once summed me up as such – and it makes me smile – though I care about what is happening inside me and you – really I do – what I spend most of my time doing is preparing food and drink, sharing food and drink – my ministry to my children and all – this feast of me – wanting to grow more lavish and wild as I grow older – smoulder in the ashes so I can cook at just the right temperature – the glistening fats and shimmering sauces – Babbett’s Feast – for you my dear - and the velvet velour curtains that cast a show inside – shut out the outer world and bring you into the cavern of my stomach – the resting place of pleasure – treasure – and soil. My hands rest in microbial surfaces – going down into dark places, fertile with belief – the strong accusations have taken their toll – but there is yet salvation ahead for this one prodigal.