Spaces

We live in external spaces, demarcated, limited. Child unwraps ice lolly smartly, licks it up with not a drip to sully the car seat, floor. Emerges with the spatulate stick wrapped in the shiny wrapper. 

Next the spiffy antiseptic space of the home. However, between the two, between the filtered aircon motorised space and the clinical warm homespace, a brief bridge has to be crossed. The sunlit, dust-permeated space that she shares with humanity. 

And here, in this crack, the ice-lolly stick and wrapper drop from her fingers, to add a splash of glorious colour to the drab dust.

So we delineate our spaces -- here we shall be hygienic and spotless, and here we shall not care.

Are our spaces within as fractured? Or does the unifying consciousness allow no divisions? If inside we are, indeed, undivided, how does this correlate with the fragments with which we surround ourselves?