The Wild Silence

At what point in our lives does cynicism take over from instinct? When we stop feeling the softness of rain on our face and start worrying about being wet?…When do we make that switch from being part of the natural world to being an observer with an assumed right to control it?

Maybe ageing really is all in the mind. Possibly the best way to defy it isn't though expensive serums, endless hours at the gym and overly sharp scalpels, but simply by trusting our bodies to be strong and capable as they ever were, being in the wild outdoors whenever we can and not spending too long looking in the mirror.

A wild unity had crept into our veins and our future was defined by it.

It’s hard to spot a fork in the road of life, harder still to make a deliberate choice which way to go. But sometimes you can catch a fleeting glimpse of one as it disappears in the rear-view mirror. The outcome doesn’t change, but many miles down the road, with the map unfolded in front of you, it’s possible to point to the fork and say: Yes, that’s where we took a different route.

All we are is an electrical charge, no more than a mass of particles, matter, antimatter, mass and energy. No different to a blade of grass or a spark from the flames, just energy moving in a never-ending flux.

The shell must break before the bird can fly. The Promise of May, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Slowly, slowly he was eroding, like earth washed from the riverbank in heavy rain, leaving only the roots of him grasping for a secure hold on a slippery rocky surface. His tree about to fall.

picking blackberries, he could see that the countryside was changing, that plants and animals were disappearing, unnoticed and unseen. Simply fading from sight as people lost their connection to nature and became mere observers.

Undoubtedly there'd been a change of energy in my void, and from that energy a book had appeared.

think it seems to be a bit of a mid-life theme. Lots of us find we have to go back to the beginning of our life in order to start again. Back to where we grew up, or where we were happiest. To a time before things went wrong. I see it like pressing the reset button.

An welchem Punkt in unserem Leben folgen wir nicht mehr unserem Instinkt, sondern werden zu Zynikern? Wenn wir nicht mehr spüren, wie weich der Regen ist, der auf unser Gesicht fällt, sondern Angst haben, nass zu werden? Wenn wir nicht mehr voller Staunen einen Dachs beobachten, der in der Dämmerung im Gras wühlt, nicht mehr auf die Geräusche im Wind lauschen, nicht mehr auf unser Echo darin?

Wat is toch dat moment in ons leven dat cynisme de overhand krijgt over intuïtie? Wanneer maakt het voelen van de zachtheid van regendruppels in ons gezicht plaats voor de bezorgdheid dat we nat worden? Wanneer stopt de verwondering over het zien van een das die in de schemering in het gras wroet, over het horen van geluiden die meegevoerd worden door de wind of van onze eigen echo die daarin weerklinkt?

Moth’s hand was still in mine and as the light wrapped us in curtains of infinity I held it just a little less tightly. Whatever was lost or found in life he would always be a part of this.

When do we lose confidence in our bodies, forget how to trust them without thought or preparation?

After only a few days, the novelty of a return to dried noodles had already worn off. The valley opened ahead, miles of flat ash and shale between the waves of mountains. We walked on, in an endless space where time and possibility seemed endless.