Butterfly Balm

When I awoke from my sleep walk I knew that the danger had passed. And that when you’ve not a thing left to loose, you fear not a thing. It’s taken me years however, to realize that there are few who share my perspective.

There are those who advise me not to walk or ride along the side the of the road, only on a bike path. “It’s too dangerous.” They say. “Aren’t you afraid of walking alone?” A friend once asked. “Afraid of what?” my honest reply.

You may think I’m a danger seeker, an adrenalin junkie. You are largely wrong and slightly right. You see, I’ve already lost all of the things that many may be afraid of losing. Oh, I won’t try to kid you. It wasn’t easy. It was really bad and for a long time. But while I slumbered, fear in and of itself disappeared. Fear of the worst because the things I’d feared most in life had already occurred. Fear of losing my child, my family, my home, every tiny scrap of possession and even my beloved dogs. My future, my present, my life. Yes, I faced the lighted tunnel. The fear of multiple coinciding, life threatening health issues. Fear of anxiety.

Fear of fear.

It all came to pass in a number of bloody battles, an unintended war fought by a weary woman on a war torn battlefield of a life.

As I lived my previously ordinary middle class life of relative caution and calm, the dangers of simply living it held tight their grip. My sleep walk years, a nightmare when merely waking up was fraught with danger; breathing itself, an insurmountable challenge.

They’re a blur to me now, those years. Thankfully, they were even then.

But I am given today.

You may wonder why it is that I so thoroughly enjoy my nature adventures, my attention to subtleties. I want to experience the clarity of it, the crisp, clear rawness of it’s detail. I want to feel the wide-awakeness of it on even the minute level. For in the minute lies the grand. Danger be damned.

Through the sultry sulphorous air I pedal to the Point, to Breakwater Village despite the breathing alert. Breathing I’ve finally mastered. At waters edge I lighten upon the most magnificent butterflies flittering in a butterfly balm bush for souls almost found. My eye strikes upon brilliant speckles of white, yellow, divinely detailed splotches of orange interlaced with intricate strips of dusted coal. Winged daydreams flit across blue, grace green, fly above fuchsia, lace into lavender, touching softly onto castles of vapor.

I am awake. I stay myself under a searing sun. I breathe salve of sweet, salty air as butterfly balm infuses my life like a dream.


A Moth To A Flame

The virus seemed to overtake the human race. It swept over on a westward wind in droplets from their own sweet breath. Opportunely, it favored the elders. The naturally weakened immunity of each advanced year, every decade rendered them respectively more defenseless.
Like a moth to a flame, the virus flapped it’s powdery wings around the existing infirm. Spreading invisibly in the dark of night, it ran rampant.
Despite mankind’s best efforts at scientific research, medical magic and blind faith, multitudes perished.
The robust youth were spared. Paradoxically, it was theorized that through natural immunity, closer to the womb, with ease they carried on.
The entire earth, the planets, the stars, the heavens observed the viral human calamity. All of the elements, all of nature, even all that was manmade remained unharmed.
Lakes, ponds, rivers and streams froze, thawed and circled back. Waves crashed upon shores then receded into themselves. Tides ebbed and flowed.
All of the animals, save for a single Wuhan bat, multiplied and thrived just as nature intended.
Trees rose into the sky. Budding, bursting, blooming, repeating. They shaded that first summer in filtered lights of green.
Evergreens evergrew. Matters of a virus, they never knew. Deep in the forest, home to the earthlings who are anything but human, safety could be found.

The human race became a collective head case.

Nothing was really as it seemed.
A love of your life may accidentally whisper words of death. A friend could kill you just being a friend. A village walk and you hold your breath.
Trip to the market, let’s just skip it.
Too many unembodied faces in the living room.

A gaslighting on epic scales? By who to whom?
Surely we must place the blame. Who, just who, brought the entire human race to it’s knees?
If you know beyond a shadow of doubt,
abondon with me the masquerade.
Walk by my side, softly upon the earth
at the mighty oceans’ edge
into a valley or mountainside
among the trees, the streams and lakes
the fluorescent yellow-ring-necked snake.
Listen for the assumedly nothings
in the wild
the safety of the places that I go.
Tell me of the apolitical, proven somethings
that you’ve learned,
you absolutely know.

NB Wilde