Nothing Better

How we see

One moment, read four ways

A woman is washing up after a meal. That is the whole event. Nothing is added as you go: everything was already in the room.

A kitchen after a meal. A woman stands at the sink washing a plate under a running tap, her back to the room. Behind her a child sits drawing at the table, where two used plates are still out. A clock hangs on the wall, a child's drawing is pinned by the window, and a mug sits forgotten beside the tap.

  1. Things

    Material

    The things you have been given to handle and take care of: what you own, what you use, the work in front of you, the money that pays for it, and how much of it you stopped seeing once you could find it without looking.

    What is in my hands today, and have I actually looked at it?

    • The ivy, halfway down the wall
    • The tap, worked by feel
    • Fruit going soft in the bowl
    • The plate under the tap
    • The stack already done with
    • A cupboard knob, worn smooth
    • The bowl still to do
    • The cloth, damp and going grey

  2. Body

    Physical

    The body you live in and the hour you are in: whether you have slept, whether you have eaten, whether you have been outside today, and what it has been saying all day while you talked over it.

    What is my body telling me that I have been overriding?

    • My hair is in my eyes again
    • My shoulders are up by my ears
    • My fingers have gone pruney
    • I have been on my feet since six
    • I never sat down with it
    • I have not looked up in an hour

  3. People

    Relational

    The people you live among, close enough to touch: the ones you chose and the ones you were given, and how easily any of them stops being a person and becomes part of the room.

    Who is in front of me that I have been treating as scenery?

    • She made me this for Mother's Day
    • My husband brought these just because
    • She could have gone to her room
    • We were all here twenty minutes ago
    • He was sitting right there

  4. Heart

    Emotional

    The voice nobody else hears, running under the other three: the delight as much as the dread, the affection you never explained, the resentment you have been keeping accounts on, and how much of it you have never once put a name to.

    What am I carrying that I have not named?

    • I have not looked up in an hourLater than I wanted. Again.
    • My fingers have gone pruneyThis part I actually like.
    • She could have gone to her roomShe is right there and my back is to her.
    • I have been on my feet since sixI just want to sit down.
    • She made me this for Mother's DayI love her so much it frightens me.
    • We were all here twenty minutes agoNobody left hungry.
    • The bowl still to doNot that one. Not tonight.
    • My hair is in my eyes againI keep meaning to cut it.
    • He was sitting right thereHe is right upstairs.
    • None of it shows.

Nothing was added.

One room, one evening, and all of it was there before the light moved. The same is true of the room you are in.

Two minutes, morning or evening. Four questions, one per lens.

1

Material

Things

What is in my hands today, and have I actually looked at it?

2

Physical

Body

What is my body telling me that I have been overriding?

3

Relational

People

Who is in front of me that I have been treating as scenery?

4

Emotional

Heart

What am I carrying that I have not named?

You cannot receive what you cannot see.