I didn't know what to do with myself today. I fumbled around in the morning like someone who badly needed a map but even if I had a map I would have looked at the lines like they were written in code and hidden holes would have looked like they wanted to eat me up. I moved around for a little while. Disjointed and lost in my being. I felt forsaken. The rain certainly added to my woe. I paced. I stopped. I sat. I stood. I wanted to shout out. I did not. I cursed the rain. I cursed the grey. I cursed the constant clockwork clouds. I felt ashamed. I felt ashamed then because I was not living the way I wanted to live.
What is there to live for? How does one answer that? You have to dig for the answers. Don't you. Do you? Long days. There is beauty. I have always written about it. I have written about it for years. It scares me that I don't always see it now. I stretch myself out - throw out my arms, wave them about like a windmill on overdrive and yet I do not gather the wind. Nothing comes. The answer is to stop. So I stop.
I open the cupboard. Flour and yeast and all there that might help me gather something into a concrete whole. I decide to make Pizza. The yeast helps. It grows and changes before my eyes.It froths like tide pools by the shore. I add it to the flour and oil. I place it in big bowls by the radiator. It multiplies. And something changes in me. A faint sense. A faint hope.Faint. Nothing more than that. And when the dough is ready I knock it back and roll it out and fill the battered pizza tins and spatula on the homemade sauce that has been bubbling on the stove all afternoon and a sense of satisfaction fills me and I think, if that is all that my day is about so be it. So be the tide of my day. The wave comes to the shore and backs out again and its keep coming back and I go with it. The roll of the dough and the tide and the motion that I can never resist - never reject because otherwise I would have no choice, no reason to be.