Kaspa writes: I didn’t notice the sun streaming in through the frosted window until I felt too hot.
I was crouching down, squeezed into the bottom of the shower cubicle of one of our resident’s bathrooms here at the temple. The silicone between the tiles and the tray was black. It was dry to touch, with fine white cracks. As I scraped away the old silicone, ribbons of it coming away at the edge of my knife, I found a pink/orange layer too. A mineral deposit? Or the pink slime of Serratia marcescens?
The job was to re-seal the shower tray. It took me an hour to prepare – injecting the silicon around the tray took around ten minutes.
What’s all of this got to do with mindful writing?
If we spend most of our time preparing to write well, then the act of capturing a beautiful small stone only takes a few moments.
If we make being in contact with the world, rather than our own preoccupations, a way of living, aiming to clearly see, hear, taste, feel and touch whatever is in front of us, and immerse ourselves in writing that we love, the words for our small stone will rise up from the blank page, or form themselves around our encounters with the world, without us having to do really very much at all.
Of course it isn’t always like this.
This morning, the silicone had hardened up inside the nozzle of the tube. I cut the top off, and dug down inside with the knife (don’t try this at home) trying to clear the blockage. I squeezed hard on the trigger of the sealant gun, hoping it would push out the solid gel at the end, but knowing that it wouldn’t. I squeezed, and the nozzle came off, and great gobs of clear silicone swelled up out of the tube covering me and the gun.
Once I had finished sealing the shower tray it took me an age to wash my hands. Someone recommended sugar and washing up liquid. The abrasive, sticky, lemon-scented soap cleared most of the gel off, but I’m not convinced it’s all gone.
Sometimes writing is like this: hard work, moment to moment.
But sometimes the words appear like magic – especially when we put in hours of preparation.
Join me in August and deepen your contact with the world. Write a small stone every day in Awake August.
the wind disturbs the grass into waves
a single tree leans towards us, twisted and spare
we don’t even notice the noise of the combine harvester, fields and fields away