The book I have in mind to write is to do with recovery, recovery from the dark lights of life, and recovery from the dark lights of a several times broken heart.
The book will deal much with therapy, with many therapies, with many witch doctors magic methodologies, with many placebos, with the many failed and the few successful cures.
Longing will remain, it is one truth of life; longing may subside but it doesn't disappear, that is my belief, one reinforced through experience.
Firstly I will lay down a few facts, in some sort of chronological order. I will then group these facts into some sort of well thought out sets, placed on co-ordinates, in that x,y,z continuum that is the three dimensions of time, space and heartache.
From this cosmos, with multiple orbits, I will explore some of the perceived wisdom in the literature; you may expect a few quotations, from Jung to Nietzsche, from Dickinson to Plath, and from all spheres in between.
Unlike the poetry, which precedes this work, I will aim to distance myself from the particular, that is except where a detailed explanation of the particular might bring a smile to our eyes.
And who is to read this book? Why lovers of course; those falling into love, those falling out of love, and those beautiful souls found wandering on the precipice somewhere between somehow being in love and somehow being out of love.
Be ready to nudge me if I ramble, I won't intend to but sometimes the streams of the sub-conscious just take over.
The coffee goes cold, at home I would put it in the microwave for forty seconds, take a sip then let it go cold again; I would repeat this process several times or more, I am a stickler for repetition.
My thoughts turn to those writing colleagues who I met at college; of how they brought something into my life that I had lost whilst getting caught up on the treadmill of work and family life. They may appear to some as fleeting relationships, for what is a year or two, in a life of four score year or more.
I suspect that a sense of community was some thing to do with it, and the relief of no longer being the leader; I wasn't the boss, I wasn't the father, I wasn't the provider, I wasn't even one expected to offer love and understanding; but I think I joined in, I hope I joined in; I think I made friends, I hope I made friends.
To be a part of something brings a richness, carries a vitality into my life. Right now I am taken to that talented young footballer who asked me how we could beat our opponents from several leagues above us. Richard I said, we will bring passion, and fire, and spirit. They will be overwhelmed by our enthusiasm, our ferociousness; and you Richard, you will show them the sort of flair that most of them can only dream of. We won that cup game, but not the next; this episode in my youth helped form my now long held belief that each new challenge needs a new leader.
I change my glasses, I am considering going out into the sunlight; I would be happy to sit here all day writing, yet I know full well that there is a slight restlessness within me. I guess everyone suffers a bit from the inability to sit still, unable to be calm and quiet with a settled mind. I am lucky, I suffer from it much less than most.
I will order another coffee, in a few minutes, but for now I am indulging myself with the peaceful quiet. Even within myself I am almost peaceful, almost quiet; yet still alive to beauty, to the beauty of people and their places, I have just watched a video of my grandson Thomas singing happy birthday to me, from his holiday cottage in Wales.
Earlier I had the luxury of five snoozes, each with its own set of dreams, each with its own trail back to my youth, each with its own knowledge, good knowledge, that another snooze could so easily follow.
I am at Carsington Water in the Peak District, it is very cold and very beautiful. I walked around, took photographs; through the stones on stone island, took photographs; of the birds, in the water and in the sky.
A second cup of coffee, but no second cake, those days are over. Sunlight falls onto my table, and reflects brightly from the aluminium chairs and tables outside on the patio. The sun forges a thick, bright and solid stripe, straight down the water towards me; I am reminded of the song Do You Realise by The Flaming Lips.
I thought that today I might write something deep and meaningful, for I am reading Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude at the moment. It is a memoir; the first part being about his father and their relationship. He claims to have had little rapport with his dad, and I think that mine and my father's relationship, apart from a few sparkling moments, was much the same. I couldn't tell you much about my father's psyche or what he thought his raison d'être was.
Suddenly, a slight darkness comes to mind and I declare that today I will not try to remember anything that I don't want to remember. I will try to stay on the path of the ethereal light.