Lilly of the valley ring out all along the river bank as the daffodils nod their heads like jaded heavy metal fans to a new beat but young tree branches sway back and forth like teenagers at their first gig. The sun shines and paints the sky in a blue of 50 shades and clouds gather like sheep in the fields. River waters run past hearing stories and songs from the birds to bees as it goes by but never stop long enough for the endings. Generation after generation this is the way the movie went, well until now that is.
Ragged men and plastic women walk on by oblivious to the songs and stories around them. For theirs are not those of their ancestors but ones repeated from words and pictures seen and heard on black boxes; as false as a rabbit laying chocolate eggs and lies spinning in quicksand. As young cyborgs cling to handheld blocks with screens to create their own tales and music that are just as false and fake as those from the black boxes. Creating new worlds but do not know the script of fate is already written.
How long until the songs of nature are replaced forever with auto tuned cover versions by the cyborgs and will anyone notice in a decade or more? Pictures of their ancestors are mere images stored in clouds in cyberspace but nobody dares look at the sky’s clouds as chemicals fell poisoned many. Stories that nobody alive now remembers how as it was before, rewritten and spun so many times now so are accepted as truths and history of this planet but not the one many fought and died to try to preserve for them.
The world is always changing as the Earth spins on its axis with few prepared to pole dance at the north or south. Human song is a symphony by a group of composers but not the only one on the planet. cats and dogs, flowers and forests, sing too, just listen. There are stories written down by the birds and bees to the trees and mountains engraved in an ink that is not invisible. Humans stop trying to direct and act this movie, it’s not the role for us, grab the popcorn and enjoy the journey to the fullest.
Waking up with the sound of sunshine tapping on my window,
Nearly blinded by his beam of amber rays hitting dozing eyes.
Heart matching the beat in 4/4 time and setting toes tapping,
But this is no Morse code message but the daily dawn chorus.
Through the light comes the sound of birds singing songs,
Hiding among the green of lime to apple and oak to beeches.
The wind plays each branch of a tree like cello’s string,
Turning the sky above to blue as paints with its sounds.
Now blocking out the buses and cars making their own musical,
Human kings and queens rushing around their concrete jungle.
As the colourful sights and sounds fade away to their grey,
And try to cling on to that final note of nature’s dawn song.
But another day has begun with twenty four hours now ticking,
A page lies unwritten except for fate and destiny’s whispers.
Learning today’s lesson and laying foundations for tomorrow,
And leave all that hurt from yesterday in the past now gone.
I am sorry that many others see themselves as king or queen of this world you have given us. It makes me sad that think they can modify and destroy it by turning it into a world of fifty shades of grey, autotuned to our voice not yours. For a day without birdsong is like a night with no stars, a land with no trees is a soulless heart filled with envy and jealousy, and a world without nature is a cage with invisible bars.
Thank you for the multisensory experience you give me by living in and being part of this world; from the colours you paint for my eyes to see, the songs of life great and small for my ears to hear, the smells that tickle my nose that drift back and forth in the wind, the tastes of things sweet and sour that make my tastebuds dance, and to the shapes and textures that touch from my fingers to my deepest soul.
I live life simply without excess and questioning not wanting. Taking things slowly like the tortoise, for I may belong to the human race but I will not to run in the rat race. I fall asleep when my body has had enough for the day, and rise when the sun taps out her message on my window to awaken me with birds singing their song. I sit looking out of windows day dreaming as I like to listen to the rhythm of rain falling on leaves, which seems like Morse Code giving me a message of hope and dry my own tears. I love to write not because I want to be the next J K Rowling but because there many stories yet unspoken and/or unheard. I choose to help another because I can and there is much darkness in the world without adding to it. I ask nothing of the world in return, but feel its love in my heart and soul, for it is enough.
We live in a material world but seems like at times we forget what sort of fabric it is made from. It is not about how much money we do or do not have, the phones or computers we use, whether we own or rent our property, the cars we drive. Money may open doors but can lead us down blind alleys not wide open spaces to create something distinctly new and unique.
The real material of this world is in its diversity; a patchwork quilt of different races, religions, sexualities and abilities. However, these make up but one square. The forests, hills and rivers with the birds, insects and animals with their diversity make up the other squares. Also we are not the stitching that holds this quilt together, it is the love that all things on Earth share and runs through us all that does.
Instead of trying to undo the stitching and/or add more human squares to it, is it not time we looked at our square, seeing what it really represents not tarnish it with bloodstains and hateful words? Also why do we hurt our own kind or get jealous of others? We cannot trade squares with nature but seems many think that we can and make the quilt to suit our skewed view of the world. Please stop.
I am at a lake, sat under a tree, wind touching my hair, and sun beating down. Across the lake is a bridge, to the West are mountains and the East a dense forest. In the sky three birds fly high and sing their song. I ponder what this one moment in time and view painted before me means, as everything happens for a reason.
My reflection in the lake is reminder of how unique my journey in life and my actions have ripple effects like a skipping stone upon the lake itself;
The tree shows me like it’s rings I have good and bad years, I have the strength to carry on, giving shelter and hope to others;
The wind is Mother Nature’s kiss to share her maternal love and knows better than any other mother what is right and wrong;
The sun gives hope that even in times of darkness there will be light again soon, even if right now appeals to be pitch black;
The bridge a reminder I have choices to make in life and sometimes it is best to burn bridges on the past when someone has hurt me;
The mountains foretell of hard times ahead but the journey to reach the summit will fill me with knowledge and experience;
Where as the forest foretells of change and that a transitional phase is to occur but no matter what must always follow my instincts;
Finally the birds are my closest friends, they are there to remind me that they support me and even if I don’t see them, I can hear them.
So which of my options do I explore first? Easy. I climb the tree as then I can have all my strength and knowledge to help me make the decision that is right for me now and not forget the bigger picture. Finally remembering that the plans and actions of today, are what bear the fruits and gifts tomorrow and a future to come.
I went to the Royal Botanic Garden, Edinburgh, yesterday afternoon, a place that really helps to soothe and calm my soul. The flowers vibrating in the wind sounded like Tibetan singing bowls, all different tones to match the different species and colours, making my every step like a mediation. The trees gave me hugs like a parent to a child, with their overwhelming height and branches so long, I felt loved and safe in their arms. Watching the animals, birds and squirrels, they took my worries in their wings or up trees far away where they could no longer hurt me and stop me dwelling. The river that runs throughout whispered to me I must relax; stopping to watch her flow felt like a massage touching my every part, and by the end her rhythm had become one with my heartbeat.