Listening with open eyes

A couple of days ago I spotted a lonely paintbrush on the ground. I was compelled to take a picture of it.

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Was it discarded on purpose? Maybe the guy painting the building facade across the street threw it at a passing car being driven by his archenemy. Maybe it was in someone’s back pocket and slipped out quietly to make a life all its own (I’m reminded of the Blur video “Coffee & TV”).

It was really the randomness of it that made me stop and take the photo. Or was it random? Is anything really random? I think that less so the deeper I dive into myself and my connection to my environment and the world and universe. Interconnectedness.

Later in the day my husband informed me he had finished painting the front porch. The same grey color that was on this outcast, little brush.

On the surface, I don’t think that it really means much. But it doesn’t make it any less fantastic about how, when tuned into the present moment, you can make a connection between just about anything. Therein lies the meaning, probably. What makes life worth showing up to every day. Wander. Wonder. The world is constantly speaking to us.

I’ve drawn some stuff lately that I plan to sew, too.

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I’ve carried many a torch in my life.

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One of my son’s ideas. Misspelling not intentional, obviously will be amended later.

A consistently encouraging friend of mine has been pushing me to apply for the arts festival again next year. I think I will listen and work towards that. That’s right. I’m going to listen. Less expectations, more openness. I’ve been letting it seep in my skin this year as much as I can.

 

 

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