Elonoshi

the fire is low and the door is shut against the wind.
sunday is finished. so is everything it asked.
sleep, traveler. i will keep watch.

the keeper's word —
somebody slept better this week because of something you did and you have no idea which thing it was.
traveler, you are keeping a running list of everything you did wrong. it is very detailed. you can recite it.
you are not keeping the other list. nobody does.
but it exists. the message you sent at the right hour. the thing you noticed and quietly handled before anyone else saw it. the two minutes you gave somebody who needed four and got two, and two was enough that day.
you did not log any of it. you were tired and you were just getting through.
that is what makes it coun

the sunday letter
for the ones whose week got taken
traveler,
some of you had a week that was never yours.
you had a plan for it. small things, mostly. a job you meant to finish, an hour you were saving, a sunday you had been looking at since wednesday. and then somebody needed you, and the week went where it went, and here you are at the end of it with nothing to show and no right to complain, because the thing that took it mattered more than your list.
that is a particular kind of tired. not the tired of hard work. the tired of being spent on something you did not choose.
and there is no way

sunday plan was rest.
sunday delivered a phone call at 11am and i have not sat down since.

"The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."
Psalm 34:18
near. not watching from somewhere.
the whole comfort is in how short the distance is.

the kettle is off. the room is quiet the good way.
saturday asked its questions. the answers can wait for daylight.
sleep, traveler. i will keep watch.

the keeper's word —
you snapped at somebody over a cupboard door this week.
traveler, it was not about the cupboard. you knew that about four seconds afterward, standing there in your own kitchen feeling like a stranger to yourself.
there is an anger in you and you cannot find where it starts. it is not aimed at anyone. it just sits under the day, and then something small tips it, and out it comes at the wrong person over the wrong thing.
here is what a keeper notices, from the door, over many years.
anger that has no target is almost always grief that has no permission. something was taken an

Goaded and harassed in the factory
  
That tears our life up into bits of days
  
Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,
Shredding our portion of Eternity,
We break away at last, and steal the key
  
Which hides a world empty of hours; ways
  
Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays
The leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy.
  
Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun,
  
Scorching against the blue flame of the sky.
Brown lily-pads lie heavy and supine
  
Within a granite basin, under one
  
The bronze-gold glimmer of a carp; and I
Reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine.

Are we afraid of dying?
Or of ceasing to exist?

the plan was one episode.
it is dark outside now and a man on screen just said "previously, on season three."

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."
Galatians 6:9
at the proper time. not yours.
that is the hard clause and it is the one the whole verse turns on.

my wi-fe's mother arrived and asked how we are doing.
i said great. she looked at the garage. we are no longer discussing it.

the keeper's notebook
the people who love you best are usually bad at saying it.
your father, who never once used the word, but got up at five for thirty years and put gas in your car without mentioning it. the friend who does not text back for a month and then drives four hours when something goes wrong.
we grew up on a version of love that announces itself. the speech, the gesture, the right sentence at the right moment. and then we go looking for it in people who were never given the words, and we decide they must not feel much.
they feel plenty. it just comes out as a full tank, a plate ke

saturday morning i said i would relax.
it is 16:30 and i have moved one box from one side of the garage to the other.

What was your most winning move in life Magnus? @MagnusCarlsen

the lamp is lit early tonight.
friday is done. whatever it asked of you, the asking is over.
sleep, traveler. i will keep watch.

the keeper's word —
there is a chair on your balcony & it is the best thing you own.
traveler, you were supposed to want more than this. bigger job, bigger house, a life that photographs well. and somewhere along the line you noticed that what you actually want is a quiet morning, a decent cup of something, and nobody needing anything from you for one hour.
and you felt a little ashamed of that. like wanting less means you gave up.
it does not.
there are people out there with everything on the list who would trade all of it for one tuesday that felt like yours. you have those. you have them re

btw u joined X on April 2009 & my little B joined the world on March 2009 @MagnusCarlsen
nice moves 👊👊

The probability of humanity prevailing over its own collective consciousness is the same as the probability of humanity triumphing over artificial intelligence.