Good Grief 310

It was something of a relief to get to the services and a toilet about four hours after leaving home.

The ducks appeared at peace.

It had been such an unusual moment, I didn't want to rush out of it and back to the delusion/illusion/reality...which? That other world....and work. The relentless place of existence. I sat for a while with a coffee and watched the ducks. Strangely, before any of it happened, I had been thinking about peace. The anger outside last night and domestic war. The endless inability of our species to live in peace, fighting, fighting for everything. I thought about our internal wars. The constant struggle with ourselves. I thought about the peace I felt when my husband was here, in spite of all the problems. I thought about the pervasive lack of any sense of peace now. And yet, contradictorily, moments of the greatest and most profound peace....alone, usually in connection with some ineffable point and place in the natural world. Sometimes felt. Sometimes not.

For a moment, a few hours, a moment in the great scheme, there had been a break in the apparently seamless, and relentless, fabric. Everything stopped. I sat. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. I sat and looked up at a momentary break in the clouds and watched a plane's con trail slash the fabric of blue sky.

A moment of peace - no warring factions, internal or external.
The exhaustion of keeping going briefly suspended.