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My sense of ancient Being seems to relate to my own psyche, soul, spirit. These entities seem to be part of my landscape of consciousness. This Being of mine was gradually buried in the early years of my life. I was very aware of it, maybe up until leaving school. This awareness wasn't a naming of my Being, it was a feeling of Being. Throughout my life my being manifests itself in my conscious, everyday life, and sometimes is articulated through the language I speak or even write in a conscious way, and sometimes through my photography. Most of the time my Being appears in ways that I'm not quite aware of. Over recent years, maybe the last ten years, I've allowed myself to become more aware of my Being, this has manifest itself through my photography, and also, gradually, through my notebook writings.

This morning some Christmas music plays on the Hotel sound system, a background. I arrive a little later this morning, just after 7, Joachen says I'm late as he turns to make me a black coffee. I pour a little milk in, he gives me a glass of water, I drink it thankfully, I had a brisk walk and it was nice to drink refreshing water. I sit without opening my notebooks and sip the coffee with no thought, just appreciating this moment of being alive, or not being dead. I watch the movement of my pen as it moves across the empty space of the page, a trail of letters traced into words, the word 'precious' appears in a sentence.

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