People are dying, killing, raping, looting and pillaging. Others are cooking, sleeping, talking, running. Still others are stopping, staring and starving. Such a miasma of ultimately useless activity. Like passing time between the cradle and the grave, the former never of your making and the latter most often not. Like being told to play till your parent/ parents comes/come to collect you. The uneasy in-between that’s tolerable as long as you do not run out of things to do.
I was on the bus to school yesterday and I watched the driver create his place of work. Entered the bus with a large backpack and a spray-can of stain remover. Proceeded to haul it off his back, set it gently down and got to work on a 5 x 5 space centered around the steering wheel. Fine detergent mists on a 5 second overhaul. A sweep of the dustcloth, a fine adjustment of the seat levers to his precise comfort levels, a wide grin into the rearview mirror and the hum of the engine. It is such a pleasure to watch people at work.
And how do I resolve the micro and the macro, the universal and the particular, this daily battle of meaning? That which is so inane at the level of mankind and so beautiful at the level of the infinitesimal. God does apparently lie in the details. Either that or life is truly elsewhere.