On hold

There's a chap with whom I'm doing some work who is becoming a friend, too, and this morning we had a meeting at his house, which is a converted church. It's a beautiful building, and many of the original bits of stonework and detail have been retained, plus the garden is a graveyard, which people still come to visit.

The front door is a big wooden beast, with huge metal hinges, a thing of beauty in itself. The key in the middle is the knocker, which I used, as one does, to let Andrew know that I'd arrived. 

At which point I entered that odd state of mind that is 'waiting for the door to be answered'. Sometimes, I suppose, I might spend that time looking around me, or perhaps checking my phone, but on this occasion I wholeheartedly entered the state of waiting. 

I looked at the door: there was nothing on my mind. I had entered a state of... suspension. It was as though, if the door wasn't answered, I would simply stand there for the rest of the day. It was almost Zen except I don't think a single thought passed through my mind.

I'm not sure how much time passed (Andrew was on the phone) but with a start I suddenly came to my senses, possibly as a result of a noise on the other side of the door, just before his daughter opened it. It was the oddest experience and put me in mind of the bit in The Hitchhikers' Guide To The Galaxy where Arthur is learning to fly (where he falls to the ground but is distracted at the last moment and misses).