9.40 pm, peering out of a totally black window flashed with lightenings and whizzy bangs of belated Halloween or Divali rompings on a cold October London night. Their flashes reminiscent of World War news reel bombs cascading in the blitz… sudden and piercingly sharp.
Explosions setting light to houses, sheds, unrepentant trees, urban foxes and the gnarled-ness of fences. For just a fraction of a second – only to surrender them to the darkness like a forbidden moment.
And here I am reflected in my mirror window, the orb of my halogen desk lamp a surrogate sun competing with sudden bright cracks. Yet more rockets exploding silencing normal night noises.
How bizarre that a moment ago I was lost in the warm earthiness of Kenya. Enveloped in my writing buddy’s flowing blogs of life 3 days-in. Making, re-making contacts and projects on her micro-finance journey.
Touched by the courageous women woven in Phyllis’s tapestry. Touched by the sights, smells and sounds of her-their lives in their richness and poverty. Way, way across the world come alive through her body, her feelings, her thoughts and her sensitivity’s eyes.
Feeling totally unashamedly vital, sensuously keen and ribboning. Presence-ing myself in the velvet mirror blackboard, here and there, the creative chaotic impulse within and outside.
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