The ground is still crunchy-dry underfoot – and dusty where it’s not – but the clivia is out in bright orange glory and the winter jasmine in pink and white cloud-scent of bubblegum and honey and the vegetable patch is full to bursting with tall peas, squat lush spinach, carrots, swede and beans.
I go for a Sunday afternoon nap, and as I’m falling asleep I can hear Scylla huffing in her sleep in the next room, and Taranis snoring at the foot of the bed, and Warren about to break into a snore next to me. And I wonder at how showered with blessings I really am.
Earlier in the day I had put the headphones on and listened to Christina Pratt and Betsy Bergstrom riffing off the old questions of evil: what is it, how does it manifest, what does it look like? And I thought, again, of how I have never really encountered Evil-with-a-capital-e in my life.
The closest I came was an episode of sleep paralysis a few years ago, where I felt something malign pull the duvet off my entranced – neither fast asleep nor wide awake – body. It may be my tendency to laugh at the pretensions of entities presenting themselves as Evil which has kept a wide gap between me and them for so long, or it may indeed be that the fact that we all come from and partake of the Light, and that I can always see the luminosity in all things, even as I rail against them, that convinces me that, as humans, we often drastically overstate the power and presence of evil.
Besides, I have always found that, should you wish to confront the real, heart-stopping evil McCoy, you have only to look into the human heart. And genuine Grace is to be found therein, also.