Good Grief 159

Went into a strange feeling of disorientation today.
I think it is all the moving to and fro and never feeling quite still and yet there can be acres of still time. That sense of things to do. A sense of unease sometimes. A constant distant agitation of lostness. The constant unconscious search for the dead - the dead other, the dead self, the void. I don't know, I'm talking drivel but it's not the easiest of feelings and escapes easy definition.
And yet, contradictorily, I can be utterly 'at home' as I am in this place. When I step aside from the clutter. Interestingly, shortly after I took this, I ran to take shelter from a passing hail shower in a bird hide. I opened the lookout window and watched. Thrushes hopped under gorse, geese circled and landed restlessly, shower clouds leached the horizon, hail pounded and passed through, the sun followed and went again. Bird hide still point in a turning world.
I returned to shifting changing plans, sorting and my unhinged gyroscope trying to seek its still point with no reference points that feel secure.