For most of yesterday, a Sunday, I washed 21 years of accumulated dirt and grit off the Peace Bus in preparation for a fresh coat of paint. Back in 1992 when I drove it onto the property and parked it in a small grove of trees, thinking it and myself would be hidden from the world, two surfing neighbours came up and simply said “We can see the bus from the water.”
Hence, the spattered camouflage paint of 1992 that worked well in allowing both myself to keep the bus where I first parked it, and, my neighbours’ surfing enjoyment not to be troubled with an “urban” intrusion into their wild Roaring Beach.
Today’s blog, though, is not about the remodeling of the Peace Bus. Yes, the interior is now completed with the hanging of curtains on Saturday, and the exterior, hopefully, to be painted over the next few days.
Instead, as I was up on the ladder yesterday, alone, getting wet and cold from hose water and scrub brushes, I couldn’t help but wonder “Why?”.
Most people on a Sunday visit with family and friends, take the day off, relax, maybe read a book, go for a bicycle ride, worship their god or eat a Sunday roast.
And me? I have no answer other than to offer this poem by William Stafford.
The Way It Is
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
~ William Stafford ~
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