It doesn't really seem to be part of my actual makeup though, the repetitions of things... While i could daydream myself silly in a Catholic mass replete with Latin and incense, and glory in the redrobedvelvety goodness of it, it is more of a distanced love than a practical one. The stained glass, the lit candles... they are a goodness that matches the smell of brewing coffee in the morning... but, for me, the smell has more promise than delivery in it.
and i love coffee.
being married for so long to someone who loves repetition as an art form and a communication mode, 'if i say it many times, have the same conversation twice, it must be true/important/noticed/poetic/repetitious'... there is nothing wrong in it, but i am now shearing off from my 'expressed need for ritual, right down to sometimes being okay with instant coffee.
change it up. change it up. mantra for some days.
and the constancy of change meets the ever inflexible pounding of waves. within each wave is a constantly changing particulate.
change it up.
sometimes that means i'm going for a ritual.
a flip. again.
and an acknowledgement that i'm too porous for ritual. it goes right through me and out the other side. and i'm still substantial somehow, still maintain my stand-up structure, though the waters pour through.
-things aren't clean, things aren't 'posed'. the coffee mug is dirty, the whole house is, as well. the light is still perfect, and always is. i'm one of those popupfrogs that you can flip and flip and flip when you flick it with your finger... simple, plastic, flip. not all flips are perfect. you don't always end up where you started. you end up flipped.