Stuffiness

Dear Friend,

I have my eyeglasses on. The frames are a tad on the heavy side. Their weight is noticeable, so that after a few hours I’ll take them off to give my face a rest.

Resting face.

With them on, you can see details. The threadbare carpet on the train marked out with blackened islands of chewing gum, worn into the threads. The hoovers they use to clean the trains don’t reach into the edges and corners, so there’s a lining of crumbs and grey dust around the base of the fire extinguisher, and the luggage rack is coated with pavement grime.

A man a few seats away has a wracking cough. You know when it won’t stop ticking?

Interestingly, my first reaction isn’t compassion or concern—it’s annoyance.

That’s how it can be.

Kindness doesn’t mean you’re floating on a cloud someplace over the rainbow.

A shift in perspective rights the picture, turns it back on itself so you become the one with the cough. Ever so briefly, in the beat of a wing.

Often, a lung infection will relate to a buried emotion that’s too much to look in the eye.

I’m heading for a flying visit to Sheffield to play with the 39th Gate from Hell.

I’ve listened to the songs and have worked out the basic forms, but without any real approach or specific parts. Maybe one guitar line that I found, but I can’t recall exactly which song.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

We’ve arrived at Long Eaton. They have several Scottish pines at the station. I have a special fondness for them.

The guy with the cough has a thick, warm cardigan with reindeer knitted into the pattern. He’s getting off at the next stop by the way he’s gathering his possessions together.

It takes a moment to shift to relating rather than judging. One day, maybe my false self will wander off—bored with me, finally. Who else would entertain them if they did?

I guess we’re in for the long haul.

I’ve no idea how the jam with the band will turn out, but it’s a nice thing to do. I’m looking forward to fish and chips from a Northern chip shop. They’ll serve scraps.

Scraps are fragments of batter from the fish that are delicious with salt and vinegar.

Small things.

My mind is often visited by grand plans.

I see our Earth healed and our species returned to sanity.

But the small things are why we heal—so we can live in appreciation. The moments that make up our lives.

You know by now that you are eternal.

How we spend eternity.

That’s the question.

It’s stuffy on the train and cold at the same time.

A young woman with a hacking cough has boarded at Derby. A chorus of other coughs greets hers.

“Us too,” they say.

It’s not easy being human.

But it is wonderful.

Till tomorrow

Love

Mikey