Something I’ve been thinking about lately: yes, we are stardust, energy fields, immutable souls (maybe), but we’re also living, sensing physical beings and the things we share our lives with aren’t always just things.
Sometimes when I feel lost or lonely or just unmoored in some way, I lean into the simple comfort of the things around me. Favourite things, small things, things that have been with me for a long time, new things (sometimes), things I’ve made or mended.
My little house, a soft woollen jumper, a cotton sundress, a pair of sandals that have learned how to hug the curves of my feet. A small teapot I bought in an op shop years ago and use every day. Glass jars on my kitchen shelves full of rice, oats, honey, seeds, nuts. A pen, dawdling along a blue line. A mug of hot chocolate warming my hand, my soul. A book to read, its bookmark silently waiting for me to return. The cluck-cluck of a willy wagtail outside. My bare feet on freshly cut grass or padding across my hardwood floor or tucked into ugg boots (thank you, sheep). The welcome-home sound of my kettle boiling water for tea. Toast! (Is there anything more comforting than still-warm toast fresh from the toaster? Maybe grilled cheese on toast. Or sourdough baking in the oven...)
All these things holding me, anchoring me in place and time, inviting me out of my head and back into my body, my senses. When all the world wants to sweep me up and make me angry or outraged or inspired or despairing, when I find myself bouncing like a pinball from one shiny thing to the next in an endless loop, I try to remember: this is make-believe. And seek out things I can see and touch and know directly. Everything changes, impermanence is a fact of life, but some things stay still for long enough to offer a sense of solidity and certainty and that can feel so good, and I’m ok with knowing it’s all part of the magic show. We are stardust, after all.
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