Life As Performance Art 80

I suppose that to some, perhaps even to many, my life must seem pretty dull and lacklustre. Yesterday, as with all or almost all my Sundays, I went to church. Went for a walk. Bought eggs. Came home. Made cocoa. Rested. Read. Did art. Had dinner. Talked to my Colombian friend on Skype, in Spanish, then in English. We are reading together an online novel in English. Did more art. Read. Then went to bed. However, I also walked ten miles yesterday, taking a long circuitous route through the wealthy neighbourhoods en route to church. The trees are fresh with green and birds are singing and appearing everywhere. The gardens are a splendour. I waited at the bus stop while chatting in Spanish to one of my neighbours, a lady from Honduras of African heritage, who is also well-educated and well-travelled. We were on our way to our respective churches. While walking to church (I got off the bus after the first two miles, then, taking labyrinth-like detours, walk another four and a half), I was singing hymns and anthems of praise to my God, and also later praying in Spanish and listening for his voice. I actually believe that God does speak to us, not in an audible voice, but in the silence of our hearts. Neither do I believe this to be a special gift reserved for a privileged elite. I believe that he does speak to all of us, but few of us hear because we don't believe, we don't want to believe, and we would rather live our own lives on our own terms (no matter how much we hurt ourselves in the process) instead of joyously abandoning ourselves to the one who created and sustains us. (We are so awfully foolish!) At church there was talk about the torturous path to reconciliation with indigenous peoples in this country, and the importance of recognizing the pain of all who are marginalized. Later, downstairs, there was coffee, birthday cake (leftover from the priest's elderly father-in-law), interesting chats with others in the parish, and evidence of growing and developing friendships. I helped bring tables and chairs upstairs to the sanctuary for a special service that was to be held in the afternoon, called a Feather Dance. Our priest gave me a bunch of bay leaves from her garden, to take home and garnish my fruit bowl, (the lovely aroma also repels fruit flies, along with the dried lavender I have put in my fruit bowl). Right now it contains bananas and ripening apricots, gleaming like sweet golden eggs. The walk home was long, meandering and labyrinthine. Again to enjoy the lovely huge homes festooned by gardens and trees and kilometres of quiet space in the mild air of late June. The beauty of having an ordered life is in the strength it helps us gather. I mentioned to a lady at church that I'm not really an introvert, but that these long solitary walks help me focus in prayer and prepare me for my times with people, be they clients and colleagues, or friends, and fellow parishioners. The cocoa I made at home was delicious, and I had most of it iced, Mexican style. Throughout the world there are so many awful things happening. There are also many good things, that somehow usually don't seem to reach our ears, since the news media loves to keep us in a sustained state of anxious alarm. I it bleeds, it leads. Yes, the planet is in trouble. And, yes, we are going to have to pull a lot harder together if we hope to survive these times of upheaval and transition. In the meantime, we will enjoy the beauty and the calm and the discipline of the ordered life.