Good Grief 337

It's strange, the more time I am on my own, the more time I seem to need on my own. More silence. Less tolerant of noise. I haven't even had the radio on much whilst here. The house is empty again after my brother was here with his family for a couple of days and I've just been cleaning and sorting a bit.
I feel as though I could do with so much more time. More silence.

I was looking at blips and wondering. Wondering generally about a sense of place in the world. Of course, it doesn't matter, it has no meaning. It has been a few days of feeling very David Whyte-ish, of all things being 'unutterably themselves'... wherever I have walked, everything seems to have been just as it is and completely in its moment in space and time. Everything is as it is. I look at the chaos of my brother's life, the oddness of my sister's. I think of our parents and of just how random it all has been and continues to be.
I wonder if I have 'moved on'. What a nonsense statement. Yet, I am still rambling on here with no other participation in the world other than a rather relentless working life. There's not much engagement. I still come out with the same nonsense. It's not productive, creative or useful. But here it is. I talk away to myself and seem to need more time and space. I think I have talked about this before, I think people think it must be lonely but like any relationship it requires attention and cultivation and when others have their families it is harder to assert the self alone without it seeming at best, odd, or at worst, selfish. But I am particularly aware, especially with the nature of work, of the need for this space. For some reason, here, it becomes deeply and profoundly silent, no tv, and an almost ritualistic rhythm emerges...and central heating is a novelty.