Thinking About Infinity
I‘ve been thinking
about infinity
But perhaps it’s not
infinity I’m after but eternity
My infinity
Where the sea and the
sky meet
Where the sea fades
into the sky fog
Where the fog and the
horizon merge
Sfumato
Chiaroscuro
Smoke obscuring vision
Rain lashed window so
the landscape outside is obscured
An open peat fire
smoking up to the ceiling working its way up a shaft of light
Cut in the roof tiles
a vent
from which the peat
smoke acrid and earthy
delightfully brown
and wholesome
inexorably is sucked
out into the morning sky
creating from the
outside
a sanctuary of the
home
a prayer
a lit candle in front
of a domestic Madonna or a house-hold saint
small – propped,
surrounded by offerings
a single ear ring, a
piece of Lego, a bowl of last year’s conkers, a chrysanthemum petal,
drops of spilt wax.
Our household shrine
Our slim passage to
infinity, to eternity.
On one wall my
constructed iconostasis.
Cobbled together
photocopies, tiny tourist icons, post cards, St Francis in four different
versions, St Julian of Norwich for writing and wisdom – good sense and down to
earth kindliness. Jesus, a hand raised in benediction over our dinner table. A
sprig of olive from Assisi home of Il Povorello,
a rosary from La
Verna place of the stigmata, hanging.
Momentarily covered
all by the kitchen door opening.
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