I’m not cloister-phobic.
Nor am I agoraphobic.
But I am more of a fan of enclosure,
Of feeling being walled-in.
The sense of place - being separate from all other places.
Separate, protected, cozy, containing everything I need in order to thrive.
I suffer from FOMO, and so to counteract the uncomfortableness of having too many choices, I choose to limit my self to what is nearest, convenient, more freely provided.
That which lies within my garden view, to complete my outdoor ‘rooms with a view’ .
What local stones are there around, to be used, or reused, or locally found? Can I work from the inside out ? Reaching over the wall, would be tricky no doubt. Or , if I worked from the outside in, behind me I’d cover any opening .
My cloister is a concentric series of cells, dry laid, self-contained, and all made quite well
Enclosures of joy, circling closer and closer. Rings within rings of cosmic attraction.
It can be round or square, well-furnished or bare, rustic or formal , uncommon or normal, a place of restraint, a ring of protection, no sense of stagnation , just peace and reflection .
What folly is this, what madness imagined , a fantasy walled , without the distraction? A containment , a border , prescribing the edges , made from the fieldstones found in the hedges.
Brimming and Rimming with tons of material, to create a sure haven to frame the ethereal.
