In Open Fields of Wild Flowers

i am in a place now where the sea envelopes the horizon, and monkeys are darting from one thatched roof to another. the sounds of The Shins are filling my ears. there is a light wispy breeze in the air. and suddenly it feels like i am 15 again – that big year, that wonderful year – when i inhabited a whole world that wasn’t mine, was new, and yet all mine to have for as long as i could pour myself into it. a lot has changed since then, giving me more reason to truly appreciate this rare morning.

it has struck me often how much i ache to revive, or relive, a part of myself that in pensive moments i am unsure will ever come back. i wonder if it is part of aging and somehow i’ve realised this loss without intending to, sort of like waking up from anaesthesia during surgery. or is this what life is always going to be like – losing things and always forced to be acutely aware of the gaping tear where something once was? and so, time travel is a reprieve from this dull ache. music helps. when the opening chords crash into me in the least expected of times and places – it is a small rift in time that allows me to disappear into the cracks of the earth, deep down into what matters, to look at the me and the things that i know inside out. the eventual experience feels like it lasts a long time. but in reality, on the surface of the earth, it only lasts about a minute.

and then it’s back to this art and science. until the next strains of Jars of Clay as i walk past a shop…

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