Solar-lunar

Walked the length of the Serpentine this evening, the first balmy evening of the year, and still the soft psychosis of full-moon prevails. Again I found myself thinking of the monks, and the abbots assertion that when one recognises their vocation, when it comes up and greets them, there can be no mistaking, denying or foregoing it. The birds sang and the traffic died away, and I had a lovely chat with Lloyd... and I felt time slipping down beyond the horizon.

After the other nights musings on the meaning of life, I lay in bed and traced the moon as it moved across the width of the bay window. It exuded a light so intense that it bled through the blinds, like a 100w bulb, so brightly that I forgot it was reflecting the light of the sun, momentarily seduced into believing it was a star in itself. Looking back, it was this night when the current existensialist theme, or meme, probably originated - with Trisha. A woman enduring a series of nervous-compulsive disorders. She was suffering, so they asserted, an acute crisis of confidence. As with more than one of the wannabe monks, this notion, or subject, of whether we avoid or accep big personal issues, situations, consequences. The impulse to escape them is real and present, but then they never get solved.

The lunacy foretold in this display has continued to influence proceedings at work and play, although I’m glad to say I’ve found some peaceful moments amongst the requirements of the E720 project. The trauma of last week has given way to a comparatively managable workload and responsibility, but in essence these are confused and significant days. Something more than the now waning moon threatens to bleach the bones of whoever I am, where I think I’m headed, or suppose or desire to be.