Limbo

It has just occurred to me, what a strange word limbo is and now I find it has the same root origin as limbic, from the Latin for ‘edge’ or ‘border’, where some souls reside after death, a state of suspension, uncertainty. I have a feeling it’s where I spend most of my time.
Today I’d arranged for an estate agent to come round and give me some idea of what the place might be worth and a ball park figure of what might be involved in terms of the work that needs to be done. It was kind of him as I was up front and said I didn’t own it. It’s all very difficult to know what to do and as he said the market is pretty strange still. Limbo might be my forever home.

A Noiseless Patient Spider - Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the
spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile
anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somwhere,
O my soul.