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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