Bedtime Story Conservatory 89 01/07/2020
Good afternoon everyone,
The weather is kind of bleak today. But I put an extra battery in my bubble gun and got it to work, so that's nice. I shot some bubbles out of my bedroom window and they got trapped in a spiral of wind. They ascended towards the top of my building, before escaping around the edge of the concrete. I ran to my kitchen window and saw them falling gently across the street, crossing the paths of passersby, who acknowledged them by tilting their heads slightly towards the sky.
----
The Guest HouseThis being human is a guest house.Every morning a new arrival.A joy, a depression, a meanness,some momentary awareness comesas an unexpected visitor.Welcome and entertain them all!Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,who violently sweep your houseempty of its furniture,still, treat each guest honorably.He may be clearing you outfor some new delight.The dark thought, the shame, the malice.meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.Be grateful for whatever comes.because each has been sentas a guide from beyond.— Jellaludin Rumi (1207-1273)
A relative of mine shared this with me yesterday, it's lovely. (Thank you).
----
Today's reading is a spontaneous short story by myself, recorded in the basement of my building between two large wooden storage cupboards. This space is completely quiet and when you speak, it is like whispering in your own ear. The story is about a splinter. I hope you enjoy.
