sometimes I realise that just under the surface there’s a monologue, a constant. close as skin, unnoticeable as breath.
a tale of strife or woe, like an eager captor, cracking the whip. or I’ve been wronged somehow, prevented from being at peace.
then I think ‘fuck, I’m crazy’ and then I may even worry about that.
sometimes that’s just life – a cascade of emotion, a flood of worry.
and there’s nothing wrong with that, that’s why I say it here, because I believe it’s not just my shit.
there is no cure but maybe just putting it here will help a little.
we want to be powerful, invincible – perfect.
this is as close to perfection as I can experience. to keep opening up to what’s there and to expect anything and everything
this is how I travel
when I’m with my girl
we go along and find
until I open my eyes
to what she sees
acid trip detail fascination
talks to birds
answers with grass
takes me to belief
I’m lucky to have an adventurous daughter. She shows me things. How to catch frogs and newts, noticing little, natural details around us.
She pointed out snail trails the other day – a network of shiny squiggles on the damp soil. All of these observations tell me something- about her and what’s important to her, and also about me.
When I’m busy I forget. I forget to connect and take notice – of the signs around me, telling me what’s there. I breathe in and know I can rely on my little girl’s noticings – things lockdown has helped her tune into whilst I, as a key worker have been immersed.
It may not have been possible for you to slow down during lockdown but perhaps your kids did, or your parents or friends. We can all learn from their slowing.
I listen to my little girl and hope I pay her enough attention – she shows me the snail trail – the way to slow down and I don’t feel as busy any more