WHAT surprises me the most is the strange, unbelievable chasm of time between my waking up and my leaving the room. Light years away, that void, unappreciated by most, except the very few who hardly have time for anything else other than the painful, occasionally dreadful, sometimes joyful, reality of work.
The curtains are drawn, and my little bed is filled with sunshine. Everything is aglow. The house, in its stillness, beckons to be looked at, studied—its nook and cranny, the little specks of dust that have settled on the jalousies—just because I can. I have all the time in the world. There is time for contemplation, for prayer, for smelling the freshly brewed coffee as little drops of it falls from the machine. The phone is quiet, and I am not needed.
So this is how it feels like. My heart sings, leaps, and dances at this strange, new, free world that has opened up.