Monday 8th December

On a cold December Monday, Daniel stepped out into Leeds before dawn, carrying the weight of heavy Haix safety boots and the gentle intention of keepin’ his mind in wave-form rather than particle. The city was already showin’ signs of its Christmas irritability — influencers in the pubs, hipsters with their “sure” and “on trend” chatter, the usual ultraviolet glare of Um. He drifted through it all like a man refusing to be pulled down into noise.

He had a bland Greggs croissant, he judged the hipsters, he escaped Whitelocks and the Victoria, and eventually he settled enough to board the X98 — the bus that’s as unpredictable as Leeds itself. As Red Hall slid past, he began easing into the day, remembering Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: waves are simply waves. He repeated the ACIM lesson for the day, letting forgiveness soften the edges.

When he reached Wetherby, the air changed. Passing St Oswald’s and then the roundabout, he felt himself re-entering Hmm — his home frequency. At his mum’s, conversation took its usual eccentric turn when she asked whether he wanted a big funeral or a small one. He met the heaviness with gallows humour and left quickly with Lola, letting the dog lead him into the morning instead of brooding on death.

From there, the day became gentle.

He walked a mile to the allotment with five kilos on his back and boots heavy enough to anchor a ship. He fed the birds flint corn, worked a quiet hour on the plot, and followed the soft pull of the river. His footsteps burned near 600 calories before he sat down in Caffè Nero — boots unlaced, rucksack lighter, body warm, and mind steady. A free coffee felt like a small miracle.

He watched the queue in the Post Office swell like a vision of purgatory, yet he himself avoided the worst of it. For once, his mum carried her own parcel there.

After lunch the afternoon unfolded cleanly. He reunited with Lola, who drifted beside him in full elder-dog contentment. She led him on a 35-minute wander — loops, sniff-trails, and quiet corners written in the air like a signature only a Vizsla could draw. Her route told its own gentle story: curiosity softened by age, joy expressed in small detours, companionship held in silence.

By three o’clock she returned happily to his sister’s, tail soft, eyes bright — a sign of a day well-balanced. And Daniel walked back to Number 42 with the sense he’d lived the day in Field-form: calm, unhurried, unbroken.

The flat was silent when he returned. His bed was freshly laundered. His mum out posting her own package. For the first time in days, the place felt like sanctuary.

He sat quietly, reflecting on consciousness, Unity Theory, field-form, and the soft structure beneath reality. Everything he’d lived today — the morning streets, the walks, the river, the dog, the silence — folded into a single understanding:

some days, the world moves through him rather than the other way round.

And today was one of the good ones —

clean, clear, steady, and true.