Day out my life feels the chink of the whittler’s knife.

A little bit of “doing” falls to the floor at His sure carvers hand with each stroke taken.

After awhile the emptiness in me becomes the substance;  the main event

And I’d want it no other way.

That’s not really true- many times I long for levity and ease, projects and adventure with others of my ilk.

Solitude is my freedom.

My safe place.

The tree of Life.

I feed my mind constantly with TED talks and books and film and….and….

Inspiration seems to arrive only after layers of knowledge, information and images are laid down in a huge sedimentary aggregate

Which gets fed into the circular and swirly digestion

Occurring within my particular solitude.

Often I think not a damn thing is happening .

And what is my purpose after all?

These are bad questions.

They are constipating at best.

Most of the time, like this morning on the plaza

If I just give myself over to solitude

It heaps my coffers up with gifts.

I suppose it’s not really solitude when surrounded by all  manner of folks milling about

But I was in a funk and feeling bored in my aloneness.

A little boy and lovely mother came walking near  me.

I had been watching a very blonde little girl in expensive frilliness assaulting pigeons with confident bombardment of white bread bullets.

The approaching African American mother and child were taken aback when the white girl charged them and paused to hand the boy a slice of bread then swiftly ran back to her personal pack of pigeons.

The boy was a sensitive child and hid behind his mother.

She gently showed him how to tear the bread and give it a good toss to gathering birds.

He tried a few times but was frustrated at his feeble toss.

He wanted to give up.

His mother spoke gently and held his tiny hand to ensure a good throw.

A glittering bird came and ate it.

The boy’s body opened into a bloom of success and excitement at the result of his actions.

Again and again he threw the bread.

Ten minutes later they left the portly birds and I felt the privilege of witnessing the plumping up of a little boys’ confidence in himself.

All I did was surrender into space and be drawn into life happening.

It doesn’t feel insignificant to me.

I smiled and rolled on.


9 Responses to “Solitude”

  1. Carole Zoom on July 26th, 2017

    Every moment we notice has gifts. Thank for sharing this moment. CaroleZoom

  2. Adele Rosen on July 26th, 2017

    Oh dear Cathy,You are living in the present , when that gift comes….
    Disability, as I have seen it,offers this gift
    I find myself so easily starting to forget and rushing ahead of myself
    It is a great service to all of us lucky friends of yours as we to you
    deep gratitude
    ps you are amazing

  3. Ellen Fox on July 26th, 2017

    Loved the “portly pigeons,” and your description of the morning. I’m a fan of solitude.

  4. Dennis Chamberlain on July 26th, 2017

    Gifts, messages, symbols….. the rewards to those who embrace the spirit of the plaza the way you do. And solitude plays its role too. Thanks for sharing, Lady C.

  5. Dominique Mazeaud on July 27th, 2017

    Another honest, wise and inspiring page. You are truly a gift.

  6. Irene on July 27th, 2017

    The smallest moments we witness bring us wonder and transcendence.

  7. Jenny on July 27th, 2017

    Heart warming Cath, love to you and Em

  8. Becky Patterson on August 13th, 2017

    SOLITUDE IS MY FREEDOM….. I like that. Simple observations of a boy feeding a pigeon. That little street drama is where it’s at. Living in the present. I like “a glittering bird”. So glad to have met you today at Pranzo. Your textiles designs, clothing and edgy photographs are great. Wow. We both “did a lot” in our lives with our talents. Now we just have to use our creativity in how to simply live. Becky. From Comfort ,Texas

  9. Katie Joy on August 22nd, 2017

    I appreciate your words.

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