Day 181: Magic Carpet

Another busy day, caught up in the detail of other people's very specific needs.  It's not until mid-afternoon that I actually remember what the date is.  Fifteen years ago today, my father died.

When something big like this happens, everything else is thrown into a different order.  Priorities change.  Day-to-day stresses are as insignificant as dandelion clocks, and as easily dispersible.  You sail above the quotidian on a magic carpet of higher cosmic significance.

This lasts for about two weeks.  Tops. 


My first experience with the carpet came after an accident that almost cost me my life.  On the day I was discharged from hospital, I drifted home, captivated by everything I saw.  Christmas lights, shopping crowds, the solidity and fumes of a London bus. 


I had been spared and everything was beautiful. 

As I say.  Two weeks.  Tops.  And then the normal order is restored. 

There's something to be said for magic carpet perspective, flying high above the trivial.  But the downside is that it's not truly connected to reality.  It is a detached overview.  A brilliant buffer - a comedown shock cushion.  But the real carpet of life isn't magic and floating and impermanent.  It's the dirty, knotty weft and warp of what's beneath our feet on a daily basis. 

Mine's a pub carpet.  One of those ones with a pattern that is 50% design; 50% accidental stains.  A few bald patches. 

And I think there might be something unspeakable in the corner.