Senses

Senses

I never take my senses for granted. Even if I would they keep reminding me they are mostly  reliable, faithful, yet at times startling companions.

I was born with congenital cataracts, a so called‘ birth defect ‘. I rather think it may have gifted me with something else, I can’t quite put that into words. For now, ‘ sensitivity ‘ suffices.

It’s early morning here in rural south west France – your writers fingers are cold – reliable, thank you senses. I need another mug of hot tea! Meantime ‘ Loopy ‘ the tomcat using his exquisite finer senses, sidles up to me to share some warmth.

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But yesterday I awoke . . . and yes I was awake, mostly – to the distinct but gentle warmth of a cat mid leg. A little shuffle took place, as they do there, settling. Eyes yet closed, but strangely I sensed the plain white wall in the direction I faced. It seemed to be illuminated, by a gentle dappled light, early sunlight. As my eyes got accustomed to a new days illumination and I raised my head off the pillow, where I had slept well, no cat. No cat was there, the covers cold, the door firmly closed. What of my senses then? Perhaps you would like to comment?

And oh, just one more small detail; as I got up and pulled the curtains, no sunlight then. I guess sometimes, we receive and manifest our hearts’ desires in ways that we should not, directly, understand, just know. With a grateful assurance, we are gifted then.

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