All around the room I live in are chairs waiting to be seen and used. They are soft and have rounded corners, just right for rest and relaxation. They don’t want to be anything other than what they are and they are proud to offer of themselves to me and to my needs throughout the day. They were born for the times that bring pauses in clauses of livingness.
I like the chairs that live in the room of my inner house. I like the chairs that hold my hopes and keep my dreams from getting tired. I like myself when sitting in one of my chairs knowing that it waited for me while I spent time visiting that most remarkable of spinning planets. The two of us are filled with amazement at the kind of tales I tell of it.
No, I am never alone, in my other world. I am filled with friendliness of many kinds.