730 things — 104 of 365

 I'm so grateful to have time and space to reflect and consider. I recognise that (whether by accident of circumstance or consequence of choices) not everyone has this luxury. And in the time and space I find things emerge and become clear.

Something that stepped forth in this way for me, as I was turning things over in my mind yesterday, is my relationship with made objects as a means of creating a sense of order and peace.

Something we have at home that I really appreciate and enjoy is bone china — porcelain. To make a pot of tea and set it on a linen cloth on a wooden tray, let it steep, pour it out into china cups, gives me a sense of peaceful orderliness. 

I know it's only things. I know peace has to be inside you. I know order is found in habit and patience and perseverance, not in cups and saucers. 

But this — like the Japanese tea ceremony — is in its own way the creation of an altar to the quietness of domestic harmony; order and peace. 

When I was eighteen, living with monks in Devon, I sat in their small whitewashed chapel — simply furnished and full of sunlight — and read their leaflet about their common life, their Rule, which included the requirement that "the priory should reflect the peace and order of heaven". 

And to me, that's the thing. By laundering my clothes and folding them and putting them away on the shelves; by washing the cups and drying them and returning them to their designated hooks; by sweeping the dust from the floor; and by making a pot of tea and setting it on a tray with cups and saucers, I am building my altar to pray for peace and order in the world. This isn't casual or accidental; it becomes a yoga of reverence because it is intentional, purposeful. Against the floodwaters of chaos and disappointment I set this bulwark: tea in a bone china cup. 

Leaving my life today, some more frank garbage: a packet with screws etc for attaching a self-build bookshelf (that I no longer have) to the wall, for safety; a sign I made to put out each week with the veggie scheme box for collection — but I am not in that scheme this year; and a special reel with a cutter to keep garden wire in — but I found it unhelpful and unnecessary. I just keep the coil of wire as it is, and cut it as needed with the kitchen scissors.

And a very nice pair of cashmere gloves — these were among the things bought for my mother's funeral, all now thankfully gone.