December 20, 2015
It's approximately 10:20 on a crisp morning in the Not-So-Small-Anymore town of Summerville, South Carolina where I am resting my cold bones by a fire. Richard is meditating in front of the flames. The chemical and physical reactions in our fireplace are the only sounds echoing through the house; this firewood, our only companion, providing us with rhythmic melodies as we adjust to the awakened life. Empty bottles and glasses decorate our tables and floors like a mine field with a precision one could only describe as "drunkenly scattered". There's a few rays of sunlight peeking through the blinds bringing with them the promise of a sunny day.
My brother is still sitting in front of the fireplace. He has not moved for ten minutes. I look around my 15x20 square foot living room; this is my reality. This is my universe. I slightly change my focus and view the scenery as a whole, trying to get all the pieces for my perception. I am grateful for the signs of life throughout my universe. Grateful that people came to my home and lived. I think about how we provided a service, albeit subtly, kind of like vacation where someone leaves behind their own universe to experience yours. They set aside their anchors for a night of living. Whatever worldly forces that weigh them down, cast aside, they are sponges anxiously awaiting to be saturated with life.
I am grateful to be able to provide others with life. If only for a night.