Distant from the hurly-burly, and the thunder of the wider world. Sheltering in an enormous mansion with one little furry critter. It's sort of a weirdly consuming island retreat. Not my home. I am just a temporary visitor. Surrounded by all the things that I could fit in a travel bag: my coffee beans, my music, my books, my thoughts, all my little obsessions. I also brought my guitar and little digital recorder. Lots of time alone with a friendly dog. Lots of time spent strumming and singing in the big, bright, shiny, kitchen.
Time slows down. The day is measured by meals and walks. Everything seems simpler. Surviving. Keeping my friend busy, and my head occupied with whatever. My main responsibility: be present, be aware, alive, awake. There is a purity in that, a sort of cleansing. Dropping the worries, the doubts, letting go of the needing, wanting, grasping. Sometimes it seems that existence is enough. One breath at a time.
