Good Grief 130

I lost my way today (more than usual).
A bright sunny morning so I started cleaning the windows. They ended up worse than when I started but were clean at least. I'm conscious of wanting the place to look cared for and not neglected. But there's lots to do.
I decided to stop and try to read for a while. I'd bought books and as I haven't been able to read I thought I might whilst I was here. A week's holiday, no tv, no telephone, no one around. Silence. I had bought John o'Donaghue to revisit. I thought it would be nourishing. But I couldn't settle. Talk of nurturing the self, following paths of truth, discovering the inner world. It doesn't go down well at the moment. I felt agitated. I cannot work it out. Action, inaction, a bit of both. Nothing feels ok.
I often see, or hear said, 'you have to make the most of life, appreciate life, live life while you can, etc, etc' ....you know the kind of thing. I feel ungrateful, inadequate and generally crap that I seem unable to 'seize the day'.

Anyway, I took boxes of pads to the old day centre and headed on to see mum. I had been putting it off. You need to feel reasonably robust. She was sleepy, didn't know me. I read a couple of chapters. Stroked her face. Left. Sat in the car and cried and then wanted to be somewhere where it all falls into the perspective of time, of long community gathering for the same ritual for centuries. To hear the ethereal human voice.