Taint Misbehaving

The in between

Hello in between time.
Or as I like to the think of it
The taint
Of the year.

I’m partly writing this for you.
But I’m also writing it for me.
Writing helps me turn the fog into rain.
And if we had to associate a weather condition
With the in-between time
It would be fog.
#fact

And I’ve been trying to surrender to the in between
The assessing last year
The imagining next year.
I mean I AM!
I am surrendering.
I even took two long train rides.
Peak liminality.
To the point of pleasure.
Watching the blur.
It always feels like backstage to me.
The graffitied walls.
I was heres.
Coupled with the I’m on my way.
The past and future
Somehow becoming the perfect sugar and salt spiral
Of transcendental time.

And this time
This taint
This in between
Is a hallway.

And hallways?
Someone once told me they called a friend for advice
In the middle of the night.
A bad break up.
Heartbreak.
Despair.
And the advice they received:
When you are in the hallway?
Sweep the hallway.

It happened that I was in my own hallway
At that time.
Living in a room in a house that wasn’t mine
Where there were two Himalayan cats.
Btw Himilayan cats aren’t from the Himalayas.
That’s for another day though.
The important thing about these cats
Is how furry they are.
So much so that one day
I opened the fridge
And a hairball drifted out.
#um

Anyway because of this cat hair
These fur balls
I was constantly sweeping the actual hallway.
And thinking about this advice.
About how when you are in the hallway
Sweep it.

And then sometimes the cats
Were desperate to get into my room.
But all my black clothing.
So nope.
But they would run their little paws under the door
Searching.
What’s in there?!
Every now and again I would take pity on them.
And open the door.
And they would scamper away.
Back into the hall.
Wanting to know the future
But somehow knowing that it wasn’t for them to know right now.
Or at least that’s the way I read it.

Sometimes the hall is the right place.
No matter how much we want it not to be.
#rightnow

And so sometimes the ‘sweeping’
Is a train ride.
Or a family dinner.
Or packing and unpacking.
Running your hands over the things you brought.
Thinking about what you left behind.
What you can let go of when you get back.
When the year starts again.
When you move out of
The in between
The taint.
Doing that part of the creative work
That is invisible.
Except maybe
To Himilayan cats.

Infinity Yours
Beth