It moves me through these different worlds

There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones

Mark Knopfler, Brothers in Arms

I don't know why but these lines have been wandering through my mind these last few days.  Could my soul be drawing me to something?  I'm sure it is but I'm not yet sure to what.

The song is about war and its foolishness or rather our foolishness to engage in war.

 'Guernica' by Pablo Picaso. Image from Wikipedia

 

Despite its message, it's a song with a soothing melody played by Knopfler's sometimes haunting guitar and sung in Knopfler's always deeply grounded voice.  It's like a mother tenderly nursing her child's bruised knee (and ego) while telling him how silly he is to get into a fight with his best friend.

I'm constantly moving through different worlds without always taking the time to explore them.  Then again, it doesn't always seem necessary.  Besides, I think that, mostly, these worlds are revealed in the things that I find myself doing and the spaces that I find myself moving to or away from.

A phone call takes me instantly into one world.  A certain taste on my tongue into another.  So does a piece of clothing that I put on or take off.  Or a certain sound.  All these transport me into very different worlds.

Sometimes I try to occupy several worlds at one time without being fully there in any one.  That can often leave me dissatisfied. Like when I eat and watch television at the same time.  What a waste of food as the television dominates and the food's hardly tasted.

Perhaps that's not such a bad thing when the food is lousy.  But I've learned not to turn the television on when I'm eating a meal that I've put a lot of soul into.  That's when I really enjoy the food, soul food.

Or take my writing.  Sometimes, I sit in my courtyard to write.  There's just a fence with regular gaps that 'separates' this part of my dwelling place from the surrounding park dominated by two elderly fig trees and their far-reaching branches.

This image from Wikipedia

Picture by benny at Home Office Snapshots

 

Other times, I come indoors to write at my desk.  Here, I sit looking through a large, glass window into the same park.  I feel a little less connected when I'm here but I also feel a little more protected.

 Picture by Jill Seidner and sighted at http://home.officesnapshots.com/

In the evenings, when my back starts to ache from having sat too long in my 'executive' chair, I gather up my laptop and keyboard and nestle into my L to continue writing.

As I move from one space to another, things shift.  Actually, things have already shifted,which is what causes me to move in the first place.

Do we grow, move, shift into our spaces?  Or do they grow, move, shift into us?  Or do both happen?  Am I moving between worlds or just viewing the same one from different angles?

   

"We're fools to make war on our brothers in arms" 
Mark Knopfler, Brothers in Arms