Impressions

File:Claude Monet-Waterlilies.jpgAt Gospel Oak, rain flowed down the steps as the crowd moved from one platform to the other. Men with brooms pushed water towards the drains- one varied his chore by pushing and then using a backhand sweeping motion. In the underpass, water spurted from holes in the walls. In the crowd, I moved selfishly, fruitlessly attempting to pick shallower points in the puddles, and to hurry: and the crowd accommodated that.

On Kilburn High Road, a group exhorted passers-by to turn to Christ, and what grabbed my attention was Mere Christianity by CS Lewis on their stall. They noticed my attention, but I moved quickly to escape, taking a flyer and then looking around for a bin for it.

The pineapple juice, not from concentrate, tastes so much better.

At Swanston station, I sat beside a woman on a bench and she started a conversation by asking me how I liked my Kindle. Yes, you can adjust the size of the print. (Print, type, “words” is the only word to avoid hot-lead metaphors.) I like the feel of the back of it, on my fingertips. Then she told me of her holiday reading, Fifty Shades of Grey. She has read it and the two sequels. Round the pool, everyone was reading it, and it File:Monet - Die japanische Brücke im grünen Farbklang.jpgwas so hot the glue was melting and the pages falling out. A male friend asked her what it was about and she could not tell him. I have heard of it, but not read it. “It’s very hot” she confided.

After a Reiki session, I wash my hands, and forearms up to the elbow. I am extremely conscious of the water and the soap and the movement of my hands on my skin; absorbed in my task, I perform it slowly and carefully- reverently.

On the train from Gospel Oak to HGL, Jenny sat beside me, and somehow we got chatting. She had been to a party, and then come back with her sister; she had wanted to be heard, and her sister had not had the time. So I said I am getting off at HGL, and if she wanted someone to hear her she could come for a coffee. So she did. Both of us have had the strange, dislocating experience of calling the Samaritans and the person saying they have no more time and the call has to end now. I explained I could hear her distress and Earth it, let it flow through me and away. I take pleasure in the fact that I can make her feel better. I noted her aged prettiness, thought of blogging about it, and “the encounter” as a story, here- and I think I was present File:Monet - Die japanische Brücke in Giverny.jpgenough to do some good as well as enjoy myself at the time. She paid, we hugged, we parted.

It was a synchronicity, though. I had phoned H from Gospel Oak, and she had not responded. Thinking it a little early to pop round for the evening, I had been glad of something else to do; but H had no note of a missed call. She had been around, and I could have gone there immediately.

Cuddling with someone, not U, I thought how each time after seeing U I feel weak and weepy, and thought that is the last thing I want to be thinking of, in this particular situation. Now at least, it behoves me to be present.

After eating the blackberries, I thanked the brambles, and my gratitude made this a spiritual experience.

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