Soft and foggy
a dispatch from the blankets
Awake early. The mist from the lake is rising to meet the sky. Spiralling pillars of mist, water ghosts dance on its glass like surface. There’s not a wisp of wind.
Not a car can be heard, nor bird, nor chainsaw. All is foggy. All is quiet. All is soft.
Though I love sunshine, I’m equally happy in the fog. Fog makes everything look gentle and still. Fog makes everything soft. In an angular world of requirements, competition and the blazing sunlight of truth, a nice gentle, soft fog is welcome.
So much of life is incredibly hard work. We experience strains in our relationships at home, with friends and at work. The very world we live in is seldom gentle and kind. We’ve adapted to endure the harsh realities of extreme cold, hot, wind, snow and rain. We’ve made things soft for ourselves.
Yet being called soft is at times an insult. The expectation of ‘grit’ and being able to ‘grind it out’ implies a kind of hardness. Our flesh says otherwise. Sure, when and where we grind our skin calluses form. And we celebrate our calluses. I’m not sure what for. I don’t think anyone has had much fun having sex with a callus.
So as I lay here, in my soft bed, nested in duvets and small furry creatures, I’d like to take a moment to remind you to find softness, both in yourself and in the world.
Hard asks for more hard.
I’m almost certain that there will be a time this week when you encounter some situation or someone who is hard. What would happen if you could find the softness in yourself? What would happen if you could find the softness in them?
Aside from throwing kittens at them, how could you get there?
Here’s to you in all of your gooey soft grandeur.