During my recent travels I visited Moustier St Marie in Provence. There I did a meditation on a hill overlooking the town and a crackin’ storm blew in. Now I realise this sounds very faux atmospherique, but I’m trusting that you know I don’t drop such deus ex machina stunts into my stories very often. Anyway, as lightening flashed and warm raindrops thudded the earth, I suddenly got overwhelmed with the idea of “stay”.
Which was funny, because I was about to take off again for another town, another country the next day. But, for some reason, on that hot afternoon in Provence, stay meant something else. I’ve been pondering it since. Playing with it.
Stay means to stick with exactly what I’m doing right at that moment, even if in that moment I’m moving onwards and upwards and outwards.