Stream of consciousness
The hum of a car passing, Gram Parsons touching me with his music, Y playing somewhere outside, and me here on the bed – a moment’s respite before Y needs my attention again. This is as close to heaven as it gets. Whoever was it said life wasn’t meant to be easy? In this moment it is a delight. Even when I couldn’t meditate for more than a couple of minutes without Y interrupting, it was a beautiful experience. Everything is as it should be in this moment, and Y is yelling.
Turns out she was being a chickadee, singing, ‘Chickadeedee, chickadeedee.’ And now she wants chocolate, and now she’s taking the bell outside so it can be a doorbell, and in every moment she has something going on in her world, and so often whatever that is remains in her own little world. It is so fun to watch, and when the time comes, to play, to enter that little world while it involves me, and move on when it doesn’t.
It’s all interaction, it’s all fluid motion, a stream. I live in a stream of consciousness! Writing is just tapping into it, as simple and natural as breathing. The stream of consciousness is my lifeblood.