Today, I thought about what space feels when I slide in and fill it.
There it is, vacant. Empty, dry and minding it’s own business, when suddenly, out of my want, or circumstance, or both, I swoop in and fill it. Sometimes with my being, I change the energy in the space I have just entered. Sometimes with my thoughts, buzzing about in my brain like a pressure cooker about to relieve itself. Or like a trail of horrible words that never should have been released. I rush to gather them, put them back into my bag and lock them away. But most often, it’s too late. They’re out there now, melded into the space surrounding me, hanging in the air like ghosts of thoughts and ideas that never made it. Or that died too soon.
Somedays, I love the space so much I want to scoop it up into the front of my shirt, stretched out and waiting to be filled. I want to drink it, quench my parched mind. I want to build a temple around it, lock it up so it never leaves.
I want to make it mine. Forever.
And somedays I want to trundle in and out of it. Sticking a little toe out of it, and immersing myself back in it, intermittently.
Bumbling in the kitchen, I fill it with happy vibes. The kind of energy that it takes to will pots of food to turn out tasty.
Sitting in my chair, at my desk, I fill it with the weight of promises made. To myself, and to people sitting across distances. I promise, I say. And so I fill the spaces between us too, with minuscule words, all lined up, carrying fulfilment on their tiny little backs, trudging gently across.
At the gym, I am vast and expansive, chest filled out, ego bloated large like a balloon I’m afraid to let go of. With every kick, every punch, the space around me shakes. I’m asserting myself, owning it. Splintering the gentle grey hue of morning light, into tiny bubbles that disintegrate when touched, only to settle like dust speckled across a forgotten room.
I see the whiteness of the space in my empty plate, and I immediately want to tarnish it. With gravy, brightly coloured blood-splattered gravy. And then I drag my fingers through it, in a noisy dance.
I fill space with the whisper of my breath. Constant, unrelenting, peace-bringing.
Today, I thought about what space feels when I slide in and fill it. Silently accepting, malleable and gently curving in to embrace me, completely.
Today, I thought about what space feels when I slide in and fill it. And I wondered if sometimes I take it all for granted.