Time gone by

An explosion of thought
Ideas tunnelling
Early birds collecting the words
Beaks snapping
Butterflies smashing
Mammals cracking
A whirlpool of dreams
Steaming from teacups
Of time gone by
All a reflection
In a dinosaurs eye

All of this streamed by
A river
In my minds eye
A flicker
A flash
A kingfisher
A silhouette
A shadow
A stick figure

A wood preserved
In a prism
A lens
Capturing
Natures gems

Upturned umbrellas
Collecting confessions
Handles up toward the sky
In accusation
Of time
gone by




I blame myself.

It’s not secret on this blog that Depression takes me over a lot.

That my depression is a chronic reoccurring nightmare that not only tires me, but the people around me too.

Perhaps last year and still through to this year one major reason for such severe blips lately is the delayed impact of losing my best friend in January 2020 .

Yes she was ‘only a little budgie’ but she wasn’t ‘only a little budgie’ to me.

It didn’t help that I didn’t lose her in the usual way either. I lost her due to my own mistake, and that is something I find very hard to live with.

As it is I’m already a person prone to guilt, never mind a mistake where a little innocent life was ruined, or ended because of a mistake I made in the first place.

I had a dream last night that she came back home and then I lost he all over again, and throughout the whole dream I just kept hearing her calls but yet never finding where the calls were coming from.
And I’ve done that in real life too. I’ve heard calls I thought were her.
I’ve sat in the bathroom brushing my teeth and heard a call that sounded like it was coming from behind the extractor fan grid.
I’ve heard calls when walking out into the corridor from my flat.
I’ve heard calls I thought sounded like her when outside but it was probably just another bird that sounded a bit like her. Or maybe she sounded like them.

I see feathers from different birds that have been either moulted or stripped off from a predator and I always stop in my tracks and look more closely, looking for her blue colour in the feather.
Sometimes I see the blue colour and then I look around and say, ‘Charlie?’ As if the feather is hers and she’s somewhere close by.

But she’s never there. She’s never here.

Sometimes I look down at a feather for a bit too long, in the way of someone trying to get past me while keeping a distance.
I look and look, and look some more till I convince myself I see blue, her blue. And it’s hers.
But it isn’t.

Sometimes I look at the feather, look around and then say aloud, ‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’

It might have been a mistake, but I still blame myself.

It might not have been purposeful, but I still blame myself.

And I don’t know if there will ever come a time I won’t blame myself.

I have a budgie I ended up rescuing, he has learnt some funny phrases. And it makes me laugh.


But I still

Blame

Myself.

Moustachioed blues

My moustachioed bird
A flash of blue
On your wings
That take you to the places
You were born to go to

My moustachioed blues
A flash of beige
In the trees
I know it’s you
The way you squawk at me

Moustachioed blues
I love you
I love you
My moustachioed blues

My moustachioed blues

An ode to the Jays
An irregelar ode

I’m irregular

My moustachioed blues
I love you
I love you

A flash of beige
I know it’s you
The way you squawk at me
I know it’s you
Up in those trees
A flash of blue
Upon your wings

My moustachioed blues
I love you

I love you…..

Meditation Diaries: My brain hurts and other rambling

I’m not to feed the birds…

My brain hurts.

Everything else is a disappointment.

I started reading a book called the “The way home: Tales from a life without technology.” by author Mark Boyle.

There is some irony to me reading that book on a kindle isn’t there?

I’m enjoying it and hating it at the same time.

He’s one of those “We need to get back to nature types,” and I always find myself somewhat cringing at that idea of getting back to nature.

Because nothing can exist without nature.

The idea that ‘man-made’ things are not natural has always bugged me.

What does that say about man? That man isn’t natural? So what is man? Supernatural?

But even ‘super’ natural has the word natural in it.

So are humans supernatural?

A strange phrase really, ‘supernatural’ isn’t it?

We say supernatural to mean something not natural, don’t we usually? Something ‘beyond’. Yet the word super suggests something is MORE natural not less natural or beyond the realms of nature.

I was looking up some birding humour the other day and I came across an article that was trying to say how “bird watching,” and “Birding” are different. I wasn’t interested in what they say is different or not about it. But what did catch my eye was this “Birds are natural; birders aren’t.”

Everything a human does we deem not natural.

So I ask, what exactly do people think humans are?

Is it a mass delusion of grandeur or is it an odd sense of self-hatred?

Obviously, the truth is it’s a bit of both, because some people in the population of humans certainly have delusions of grandeur about their place on this earth as a species, and then you have the others that hate humans and hate what humans are doing to the planet.

Anyway back to the book I’m reading it’s a somewhat painful read for me.

He’s done something I could only ever wish I could.

You don’t live this long with my medical conditions without technology, for one reason only: I’ve been kept alive by machines while they operated on me.

It’s not just the electrical technology stuff.

I don’t have it in me mentally, I’m not tough enough to do what he calls ‘get back to nature’ as much as I pick at that phrase.

It’s like reading a reminder of all the things that I have to some degree aspired to be, maybe not as extreme as he is. But certainly the idea of living in a cabin in the woods, pissing up against the trees in the morning while the birds sing and squark the morning away.

Yea that’d be my thing.

I don’t think I’d completely discard technology. I do after all use a powerchair, and I wouldn’t get fart without it. Then again right now I get nowhere because it’s broken.

After feeling dejected by everything I started searching for ways technology can be used to help the environment.  Only really to reassure myself that technology isn’t as evil as the writer makes it out to be.

But when he talks about the machines that come along to knock down a whole load of trees and essentially driving animals out of their habitats it’s hard to argue that humans and our technology aren’t bad.

To some that is enough to argue that we’re ‘not natural’ but it’s not really a good argument for that because nature is as destructive as it is creative. The fact humans do some bad things doesn’t argue against the idea we’re natural at all.

But people will use that fallacy all the time.

If we don’t like something about humans we will say it’s unnatural and that we need to get back to nature.

Sadly that mirror you’re looking in that you’re trying to change to look ‘natural’ was natural all along.

yes, that means our destructive force can’t be singled out as something not natural.

Sometimes the more I find myself involved with environmentalism the more I find myself feeling we’re just chasing our tails.

I get to wondering that maybe we’re too self-aware for our own good. But then a little voice niggles in my head and says, “It’s an illusion of self awareness.” And I think that voice may have a point.

We think we’re self-aware.

To me the very fact people seem to separate us off as another category away from nature suggests we have no idea.

Sometimes I get the feeling that we’re aware that there is something we should be aware of but that we can’t quite put our finger on it.

Or maybe it’s just me. I often find myself aware of being aware of something I can’t quite put my finger on.