We have an old friend, well he is his strictly but we met through him and his then wife and he was kind to me during those early days, anyway he began a course of chemotherapy yesterday. I have thought of him often recently. He has lived well, embracing all that it had to offer with enthusiasm and courage, I think. As he is doing now, or appears to be via his text messages. I think of the poison filling his veins. I hope it kills the cancer with it its kindness.
She left three messages via the blog portal. They were kind. She’d taken the trouble to think of me and my drawings and respond encouragingly. The kindness of strangers is a constant source of wonder to me.
I wake with it. I think I always have. There have been brief escapes, such as when I thought I was in love, in lust, or when I was on holiday and I’d wake full of the joy of irresponsible adventure, but they are few and far between these days for I know more. And yet, there is trust, there is an awareness of deep, deep goodness and there is joy but the overriding sensation of life for me is fear. Is it so bad?
