Spiritual Sundays | Seventy Eight

The Miracle of the Everyday

Dear friend,

A cool breeze wafts in from the garden.
There’s a party going on in a neighbour’s garden—actually, two parties, one on either side of us. I think it might be the second day for the one on the right, which makes me wonder if it could be a wake. You can hear kids’ voices, and every now and then, it sounds like an aunty or two putting the world to rights.

I can’t even begin to think about the richness of the connections in my day alone—never mind those on my street.

This morning, I stopped by the community café with Enzo the dog and complimented Little Steve on his music taste. He’s always playing something great—David Bowie, some obscure sixties track, Iggy Pop, or Patti Smith. I call him Little Steve not because he’s little (he’s not—he’s over six foot), but because his dad is also called Steve.

Steve, Little Steve, Nick, and Christine are the family who run the café next to the lock on the canal.

Big Steve floated the idea of a community dance night at the café. Christine got excited, voiced the need for more support, and I volunteered—so now it looks like it’s going to happen.

Later, I went for a walk with Adam and Jessica. They told me about their new life living in a VW camper and following where life takes them. Then Liviu dropped by for a chat, and after that I went online with Jeremy and Mason for a Spiritual Sundays livestream on YouTube.

Now I’m planning to cook pasta.
But I wanted to sit down and write to you before it gets too late. There’s a tension arising because I’ve been working on some song recordings and I also am enjoying the process so much I’d like to pick up with it again before the night comes to an end.

I made a slice of toast and boiled the kettle to make tea—and that’s when I felt the breeze again.

It just nudged me.

"Pay attention to the moment. Breathe me," it whispered.

My foot still hurts a little from where I stubbed it on the kitchen threshold. It’s my right foot—maybe a lingering echo of Maisie’s paw, which has healed more today, thankfully. That eases something in me too.

Enzo will be ready for his evening stroll soon. He’s half-dozing, half-keeping a shepherd’s eye on me.

The last bees of the day are picking over the lavender, ready for their flights home to the hive. We get a variety of bees here, which I assume come from different hives around the neighbourhood. Nature is unbelievably rich—even in a city. We’ve had little fluffy clouds today, floating across a dusty blue sky.

Enzo’s sleeping now—or at least, he is until I move.

Now for that pasta.

Even if something big and exciting were happening, it would still be this moment. Just this.

Sometimes you realise that love is the miracle.
We can love any little thing.
We might even come to love ourselves.

Till tomorrow

Love,
Mikey