I was remembering a day in West Cork. But when I was in West Cork I was remembering nights in West Cavan. I suppose the mind is always split between worrying about the future and being nostalgic about the past. So I had some tea, and Chopin and a slice of currant bread. More tomorrow.

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Everything is a story. Even when I say how I feel. Even when I talk to myself. No matter if I wrote one paragraph or a thousand words; the only thing is story. And I don't know who I am because I only exist as the one telling the story. And I have a plan coming. This weekend's podcast is about the art of memoir.

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A meditation on what this thing called the self is. What's on the inside. And who goes there, as Hamlet wondered. Who is it on the inside, if it's not me. and who is it that calls me out, when I want to go out and hug some person plant or other sentient being. I never have answers. I just keep wondering. 

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It's funny how the mind works. I started out sitting in the camper van remembering an incident that happened six years ago, when I was in the back of a car and the two in the front were having an argument about nothing. 

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I come back into the room after being away and there are tracks of an animal all over the. place. I look at them and realise it's me. it's me who does be here. and yet this Me seems strange.  As if different from the one who is examining the room. 

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Here's the second part of my Sunday morning meditation. Good listening. 

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This I feel is special. it's in two parts, for this morning. a meditation on lots of different things which came upon me  in a carpark outside shops in Letterkenny. I hope you like. Part two will follow within the hour. 

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This is part two, following on from yesterday evening. I'm in the camper an on the sand dunes behind the beach and then I had to leave suddenly. More on Sunday morning. Have a great week end.

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Part two of this coming in the morning. I had to leave the beach and the sand dunes abruptly. Hope you enjoy. 

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A tiny 2 minute podcast. Enjoy

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