A sense of being. Being what? Just being. A sense (of being)? Maybe tending towards being without a sense of sense. This word sense being used in different ways. A sensing being. And. A sense of being. One, is embodied - sensing being. The other sense, is more to do with thinking, thinking with words. Rather than the thoughts and feelings that permeate our being, these background dreams that are with us through the day and night.
These new transparent boxes that I've bought over the last few weeks seem to be allowing me to shift my thoughts (and feelings) about boxes. It's something to do with the appearance of things inside the boxes. Maybe a photograph here. Some boxes have paper inside. Some have bits and pieces. I might replace one of my book shelves with these transparent boxes of things. I might look at the things more often than I look at the books. I might even be inclined to change the order of things in these boxes. And put the box back, it's 'spine' looking slightly different now. I might make a collage. A photograph.
These words trickle like water, they float in the breeze, walk with the wind, melt in the mind. A feeling for words. The writing, paper, pen, hand, movement, embodied, mingling, muddy, murky, mumbling, murmuring, marvelling, meandering, these words.
I pick out a book from a box, I read some words, look at some pictures, and wonder if I want to hold onto this or let it go. I let it go, into the charity bag, I hope the book can be seen afresh by someone else. I don't know if that will happen. I stay with the hope. Words, pictures, enclosed, covered, the book, moving on.
A million words, in our thoughts, some words repeating themselves over and over, consciously sometimes, but less consciously other times. I wonder about my landscape of consciousness; these feelings and thoughts that manifest themselves as sounds and images, floating, settling, decaying, forming, take shape again, and these words that allude to my reality, these words, an illusion of my reality, my experience of being. A song comes to mind, 'reality is a friend of mine'.
A sense of being friends with yourself, an enchanted space.