Devotion

Since removing the gas heater from my caravan, I have a rectangular hole, straight through the floor, revealing the grey gravel of my parents driveway below. I call it my floor-light. Sometimes, if I am standing near the floor-light, with the right wind, a draft of air rises and a breeze will play across my face. When this happens, I am reminded of the Paul Simon song, “Graceland,” when it says;

 “Losing love

Is like a window in your heart

Everybody sees you're blown apart

Everybody sees the wind blow”

It makes me stop what I am doing, to stand there and stare at the gravel below for a moment, and I imagine what it might be like if I were to lose my human form altogether. If my body were to turn to mercury, and slowly drip in great globules, through the floor-light and onto the gravel, matching it in colour and shape - where would all the love go then? 

Now that my caravan has been moved and is parked up on my own site, tucked between the cottage and the sheds, the view through the floor-light is green. Grass and weeds, a few sticky-willies. 

It is true that what brought me to this land, ultimately— albeit on a kind of tormented,  higgledy piggledy route —was romantic love. And it is true that the romance has long died, but the love still swirls about on drifts of wind, looking for a home, a direction.  That romance awakened me to the wellspring of love that, I know now, was always there, and remains there eternally, waiting for a channel of devotion to transmute it into something tangible, something of this world, maybe even something that can help. 

On this land, I am often overcome by an overwhelming sense of gratitude - I am here, on this little slice of paradise, through what feels like no work of my own, but from the love and generosity of those around me. My parents, my family and friends, my lovers who couldn’t make the journey with me. I don’t dare to assume that writing this will help anyone but myself, and I still only know how to write about myself, but maybe, for now, that is enough. To devote myself to this land, this craft, to practice using my voice, my gift, in whatever small way I can. Bear with me while I stretch, and try, and practice my devotion.