As I sit alone at the table and wonder who I’ll have at my perfect dinner party, I wait with bated breathe for each and every person to arrive in my mind’s eye. They may well be just what I need. That this guest list is purely instinctive, means it may be a reflection of sorts upon my true nature, hopes and dreams, ambitions and values. Let the energies present themselves. Let the personas emerge. Let the perfectly serendipitous amalgamation begin. I cannot wait.
If you were to construct a vision of your perfect home, would it be completely tangible, made only of raw materials or would you say that aspects of its creation were more otherworldly and out of the reach of presentation? Is home not a construct that feeds all five senses?
In the eighties I was me; so unabridged and hopeful. Facing forwards. Facing all the glorious things that life had waiting for me. So unhindered. So unrestrained. So easily, naturally me.