Sometimes we reach a moment where what we see and experience is, as it were, outside the main purpose of the event. Suddenly, in a day all about work, driving between jobs I was jolted out of tedium by the sight of a little cock sparrow drenched from his bath in a puddle and sparkling in the sun.
It got me remembering my mother’s long dying, and how sometimes in the middle of a day of anxiety and sorrow, there would come an interstice. Something would trigger a few moments of respite when I could feel myself unfurling to my natural state in joy and relief. Joy and beauty and a whole heart would be mine. I called them interstices. The joy of the interstices made life possible.
The interstices do not come to me only when I am sad or lonely or bored, they can come any time. Often and best they are unexpected, sometimes, approaching a favourite honeysuckle smothered hedge, I anticipate them.
What they have in common, these moments, is that they seem more real than the matter of life which surrounds them. I wonder very much what interstices you have experienced.