Slow time

I dreamed of being back on the train last night, which I suppose is because of all the thinking I have been doing about July 7th. Yesterday, as I stacked the last of my books in the new shelves, I played a beautiful piece of music by Francis Pott called 'The souls of the righteous', which moved me to silent tears. But in a good way. I have written before how I had found it impossible to listen to music but now I have some time off I have been tentatively experimenting with playing music that I love, or new music that I think is going to have an emotional effect, because I have the time and space to let it affect me and to cry if I want to.

So I am so very grateful for this break from work, because I finally have time to grieve, and feel the anger and the shock, and then to try to let go of all the July 7th feelings instead of pushing them away because they are too painful and overwhelming. And now music is helping me to do that. Music, and small things, like tidying my house, a drink with fellow-passengers, time to read and sleep and be quiet and still. Slow time, gentle time, time just to appreciate still being alive.