Preparing for Paris, you would think it would be fun. The past few weeks have been packed with all the stuff of a non-minimalist lifestyle so familiar to all. We have both felt like stones rolling down hills very very fast only to fall and wedge into a crevice unable to move. The seats on the plane were good. The inability to do was claustrophobic.
The themes of the past few weeks have been minimalism and commandments. This quiet background music played while we worked insane hours and made decisions on life directions in snatches, completing thoughts on the run, finishing sentences between illness and performance.
The simple life is complicatedly elusive. The white space becomes filled with every sort of colour immediately it appears.
Richard was on his knees. How to choose the paintings for the exhibition in Paris? Themes and colours and styles, some to complete, others to frame. Then to pack. The suitcases were are taking over carry those paintings, our clothes squashed in to just one other. Simple.
I was on my knees, choosing lessons, themes and styles. Cleaning and sorting. How to leave with all washing done. What about that last towel, and when is that the last bit of rubbish?
A lady told of a lady who was very sick. She paid her to clean. The lady knew she was dying but the words were left unspoken. The washing was done, the last piece of rubbish was taken out.
The lady needed a passport for her grand daughter. She ignored the forms for months. She prayed. She was in a prayer meeting with phone on silent. She missed the call. The call to action. She snail mailed when express was needed. Others phoned and did and rang. Down to days, hours even and the passport approved to be sent.
I was reminded that I had not done much praying. So I prayed. I unpacked the car for the morning in an empty car park at school. Five heavy bags and a full box of marked work and a long walk. God, please help. Send someone to help. Two appeared at once. Out of nowhere.
The exhibition is soon. The paintings have been chosen. We are on our way. The washing has been done, the basket just a little full of that which is left, our towels, one-day-worn clothes. Rubbish out but not picked up yet.
We are on our way. Aches and pains and coughs and dagger throats and red red eyes. On our knees. I must be on my knees. Camel knees. I should have camel knees. To do what I must and pray before the doing. Not just pray. Not just do. Without ceasing. Thanks. Rejoicing. Until there is just a little left to clean, a little left to do.
The themes of the past few weeks have been minimalism and commandments. This quiet background music played while we worked insane hours and made decisions on life directions in snatches, completing thoughts on the run, finishing sentences between illness and performance.
The simple life is complicatedly elusive. The white space becomes filled with every sort of colour immediately it appears.
Richard was on his knees. How to choose the paintings for the exhibition in Paris? Themes and colours and styles, some to complete, others to frame. Then to pack. The suitcases were are taking over carry those paintings, our clothes squashed in to just one other. Simple.
I was on my knees, choosing lessons, themes and styles. Cleaning and sorting. How to leave with all washing done. What about that last towel, and when is that the last bit of rubbish?
A lady told of a lady who was very sick. She paid her to clean. The lady knew she was dying but the words were left unspoken. The washing was done, the last piece of rubbish was taken out.
The lady needed a passport for her grand daughter. She ignored the forms for months. She prayed. She was in a prayer meeting with phone on silent. She missed the call. The call to action. She snail mailed when express was needed. Others phoned and did and rang. Down to days, hours even and the passport approved to be sent.
I was reminded that I had not done much praying. So I prayed. I unpacked the car for the morning in an empty car park at school. Five heavy bags and a full box of marked work and a long walk. God, please help. Send someone to help. Two appeared at once. Out of nowhere.
The exhibition is soon. The paintings have been chosen. We are on our way. The washing has been done, the basket just a little full of that which is left, our towels, one-day-worn clothes. Rubbish out but not picked up yet.
We are on our way. Aches and pains and coughs and dagger throats and red red eyes. On our knees. I must be on my knees. Camel knees. I should have camel knees. To do what I must and pray before the doing. Not just pray. Not just do. Without ceasing. Thanks. Rejoicing. Until there is just a little left to clean, a little left to do.
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