Sunday afternoon. Mr. Man is surfing his I pad. I'm flitting through TV
channels, overworking the remote. Nothing can root me today. I feel haunted, restless. No book can captivate me, no project feels
satisfying enough. I've got to get out of here.
The smell of fresh pine, salty sea and the heady sweetness of
decomposing leaves and moss greets me as soon as I open the car door to step
out. And silence, blessed silence. Finally I can think! Finally I can hear my
inner voice. In the distance I hear waves rushing to their demise over the
stony shores and now and then the honking call of swans break the silence. I
look around. The darkest corner, the most twisting road, that's the one I want
to take. Ever further along the unknown until I'm good and lost. Or at least
until I can pretend to be. And never, never ever the same route back.
Without the usual fears crippling my mind; the fear of falling; the fear of
not having energy enough; of forgetting this and that; I step into the forest
and am immediately enchanted. God how I've missed this!
The exertion heats me, flushes my skin and the air feels gradually colder,
crisper. I'm panting like a dog and the sound of my ragged breaths feel
disturbing in the stillness. I'm rushing in for sanctuary, trusting my legs to
carry me as far as necessary. Fleeing almost, from modern age, plastic and
metal. My lungs labor for air, and the clean air burns like a crystal through
my lungs. Taking all the filth in them and rendering them clean and new. A
cigarette would lessen the icy impact, but I can't smoke here. It would be
sacrilegious. The forest is the only holy place I recognize, my only place of
worship. It's a cathedral of peace and quiet. Smoking here would be offensive.
Unnatural. Abominate.
My sight is the last of my senses to surrender to the intentional
slowness that is being in the here and now. Twisted tree branches, perfectly
clear springs, mossy hills and the gentle swinging of grass catch my eyes. My
imagination runs wild. I completely can understand how tales of trolls and
fairies came about. Better stories of them than of cars and factories, of
stress and finances. Sadly, for a creature capable of so much, our imaginations
have taken a turn for the duller, more politically correct and morally
nonthreatening.
I've walked good and long when I notice the shadows getting deeper. The sun
is slowly setting, and I need to get back. I wish I didn't have to. I wish I
could stay longer, just keep on walking. I’m afraid I’ll lose my new sense of equilibrium
and all of a sudden, that equilibrium is the most precious thing to me. It’s
what I’ve been missing for so long, what I’ve unknowingly yearned for, and
having it now makes me giddy with relief and lightness. As I approach the car, a
heap of glistening blue metal in the middle of nowhere, I’m afraid of losing
my sense of peace. Can I take it home with me? Will it last?
Sincerely,
Pepsi-Mama
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