Lives alone. Fourth floor, an old … historical … apartment building located in the transition between “downtown” and the “inner city”. Fewer businesses thrive there, fewer lights shine through the night, more homeless consider this “their turf” . Both, building and apartment, have maintained oldish, musty, themes and appearance from earlier decades. During winter, he is content keeping the steam heat low, with the room temperature, around 50. Warmth comes from his layered and weathered being: two shirts, polar fleece, rag wool socks. Warmth comes from many books on many shelves … to fortify the walls of his apartment-castle. Warmth comes from music, flowing indirectly from many years before: Art Tatum, Dizzy Gillespie; pieces composed by guys like Rachmaninoff and Brahms and Beethoven; Piano Guys; Crosby Stills and Nash; Carol King, Bruce Cockburn; Lena Horne. A dark green wing back chair, parked on an Oriental rug that stretches out twelve feet one way and nine feet another. He reads books, here, in this chair; he sips tea; he thinks about his journey and his story, at times making sense of things. He forces himself out of his safe place, when he can: volunteering at the library to read stories for kiddos; working at the food bank; and walking to the park where he reads … if the weather holds out.
Tozer wrote a piece entitled “A Sanctified Imagination”. As a result of that read, I attempt to practice this “sanctified imagination”. This particular imagery above visits often. But this is the first time I have released it, on to the great white. There are times when such a release happens without much of a notice. Thanks for letting me get this out of my soul.