I'm writing my diary, mentioning people. Those I know now but may not know in 10 years time, 2 years time. It fascinates me, pen in hand, remembering last week and the angst of a single day, a single time, just how small each moment is and just how each action, each thought or utterance may be hugely significant or may pass unnoticed. I am suddenly aware of a perspective.
The broadness of time.
In easy conversation, over tea, a friend observes how I, unconsciously, refer to Quakerism in my speech. My anecdotes, metaphors, comparisons are littered with religion, faith in practice. And with that SNAP! I'm out of myself and wondering what I look like, what I sound like, from your perspective. Amongst the rolling waves of worry, I realise.
We don't see what we become.
The broadness of time.
In easy conversation, over tea, a friend observes how I, unconsciously, refer to Quakerism in my speech. My anecdotes, metaphors, comparisons are littered with religion, faith in practice. And with that SNAP! I'm out of myself and wondering what I look like, what I sound like, from your perspective. Amongst the rolling waves of worry, I realise.
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