SOC Writing  _ 30 November 2020

Amygdala

In the brain stem I make my decisions – come up for air after being pummelled by sonic waves. I am my mind, my consciousness, moving through space. I am not inspired, I am moving through space, noticing, noticing the camber of the road – my Camino as I look for the cliff where I will leave three things behind and step across the ocean of my own life. Not many things have the gravitas of poetry – a song, a child – birds and bees – but not many – deaf to this tune for so long – it is now a thing of attention – I make – deliver the version, my version of a life unfolded – flower petals pound the ground as they fall, thunderous with significance – did you notice? To notice what is all around, all the time – the moments – this one then that one – becoming upon the very essence of our existence – or the one that we perceive in the human way. There must be other ways of perceiving – the birds way, the sight of flowers, trees and ancient things – far wiser than we. I could tap into their ancient wisdom by getting my head low and being awfully silent – alone – by myself making enquiry to that and those people would consider madness. We must find a little madness through our sadness - gladness too – and put it out there to the ether – otherness. The way we tread our days has a feel about it – now, mine is a little bereft – I have not seen my children for four days and that now matter a lot to me – they have two lives – one with me, another with their mother. And I am so grateful for the time they shine their resplendent selves in my domain – domain of man, father, wisdom, comfort and sustainer - my antlers rattle against the other men and this too is good – wholesome, fearsome – the velvet is coming off and the clack, clack, clack rumbles through the forest air – I am not alone – even as I sit alone – the spirit is strong in this one – the sword of my own heart only a moment away from piercing to the core.