It’s an ordinary day, and you’re going about your ordinary stuff. You’re feeling pretty ordinary – neither up nor down -you’re just getting on with things in a stress-free kinda way.
Your happiness isn’t over stimulated, but accompanies you through the day in an ordinary kind of way. You don’t take your ordinary days for granted. You know they’re precious and many people’s ordinary isn’t happy, but that’s not your story. Your ordinary is gentle and calm. Your ordinary is creative and colourful. Your ordinary is slow and nurturing.
There’s nothing major happening, life is simply flowing. It’s remarkable only in its ordinariness.
As you’re sweeping nearby, her diary falls off the shelf and you remember there’s an upcoming birthday that you want to check on to make sure you send the card on time. She was always the one who kept you right on birthdays and such.
So you open the diary and you see her jottings. You know that script so very well, sprawled chaotically through the mini Filofax that she never quite got the hang of. A random collection of appointments, contact details and recaps of the day, it makes for difficult reading, but you can’t help it.
You keep going, recalling hospital appointments, bone scans and chemotherapy. The day they told us it had spread all the way to her brain and that it was now just a question of time.
That was almost a year ago.
You keep going, through radiotherapy sessions, wig shopping and varying medications. The tears are flowing so fast and your nose is running, but you don’t seem able to go look for a tissue. You’re captivated and stroke the pages. The grief touches every fibre of your being as you witness the deterioration in her script and the increasing amount of “I feel bad” entries.
Then the entries stop. The Filofax was too heavy for her to carry in her handbag towards the end and came to rest on her kitchen table.
It belongs to you now, just as she left it – complete with her sleek, silver Papermate pen. You close the clasp and bring it up to your nose to see if you can catch a scent of her from within its pages.
Your ordinary day has changed. You sit and wait, tears rolling, just breathing and loving. Breathing in the love she bestowed on you and breathing it back out for someone else to catch.
This is no ordinary day, after all. It is some kind of crazy miracle that your psychic energy and your physical cells have collided into the unique being that you are. That you are conscious and aware of this existence in this moment, this place and time, it’s something quite spectacular, yes?
Your tears are drying and you go find the tissue. There is work to do today, like most days, and you know you’ll get on with the task.
She touched you today – like most days – she is both here and not here. The lover and also the beloved. Both ordinary and resplendent.
The great paradox that excites you so much.
Have you downloaded your free guide to creating your own Found Inspirations practice? It’s so quick and easy, anyone can do it anywhere. But it’s powerful, too – and an ideal way to begin art journaling and get those creative juices flowing!
@juliegibbons Your technique definitely resonates with me. It came right at a time when I was searching for a daily practice, too. Thanks!
— kimswitzer (@kimswitzer) April 1, 2013
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About the image
You can download the image for non-commercial use, please remember to attribute it to Julie Gibbons.