Outside would be better

Midsummer naturally concludes a marker in time, a point when everything suddenly becomes clearer than mountain spring water and for a brief few minutes, your place in life suddenly seems to make sense.

For a few precious moments everything in life untangles, simplifies and becomes so sharply clear.

Don’t ask me where this clarity comes from. I have no idea. I don’t fully believe it truly is present, yet every year on this long summer day it reappears. There is no logical sense in believing that one day in the year conjures up this sense. Its kinetic and reflective, its something that’s present, sitting in a bit of floating brain-grisle.

Is this just an imagined belief? Am I just a hippy? Did dabbling in Paganistic ideas influence thoughts? Or is there actually something really in existence that we are aware of regardless of prior experience and knowledge.

The summer solstice is the day in the Northern hemisphere when the sun and the moon’s axis tilts towards the sun more so than any other day each year. It is the longest, lightest day of the year. This is an undisputible fact.

In our industrious artificial lives does this still effect us, are we even aware of this fraction more daylight received? Citydwellers – most of us are –  are so removed from nature it’s hard to think such subtle changes still have the capability of effecting our feelings and knowledge. Perhaps it is purely an empirical understanding than cannot be shaken no matter how urbanised we are. Yet it is a day so deeply entwinned in natural light maybe it is unescapable to even those who live artificial lives.

 

 

Solstice

One year ago today I was half asleep in a tiny car. 

After dawn we climbed trees and drank a bottleof Morgan’s Spiced rum, while Mike the viking tried to poke us out of a tree with a giant stick. More of a tree trunk than a stick, really. Wondering up the hill afterwards, we ate tomato pasta salad with our fingers and fell asleep in the dawn sun. Sometime after we wondered back to the car and fell asleep. This was all in the name of midsummer, the Solstice.

When it got too hot we sleepily stumbled out the car into the early morning sun, finding shade and Waynes van. Everything is somewhat blurry about this point. Several of us squeezed into the front seats, falling asleep squished into gangly shapes. The seats were not big enough to sleep on, let alone for two or three not-so-small people. Sometime later Joy’s shoes were thrown on the roof of the van. There was some tired drama and eventual shoe retrieval.

After this everything is a blur. Then suddenly we were home. I don’t remember anything other than falling asleep squashed between people in the back of the car and drinking red bull when my eyes cracked open.

Today

I am sat at a desk staring at a monitor wondering why I am feeling sad. Later on I will stand in an off-license pulling disgusted faces when people reeking of layers of dried sweat and stale alcohol stumble over the doorstep of the shop. And then Midsummers day will be over.

I would have liked to be outside, in the world today.

Searching for the unreachable, unobtainable, something. What the unreachable is, I don’t know.  I know it is there, it’s always there – right behind my eyes, itching the back of my brain, scrabbling to escape. It’s in the sky, in the stars, in my feet and shin muscles, fingertips, on the stairs over the railway, it’s around the corner you saw a fraction too late.

It’s down the alley with the broken windows and peeling paint you walked past everyday for months and only just saw. Behind a door that’s not yet been opened. It’s in everything – utterly everything – the bitter taste of life, the swirl of conversation over Polish beer, the pain of dry broken and stamped on chances, the gulp of coffee that burnt the roof of your mouth and then your stomach, the dreary moments that drag at work, the glance out the window, the mental kicking you give yourself for not taking a chance, bumping into someone you rarely see as you walked the long way back.

If there was a conclusion, a direction, sense of ease; this would not be here.

To step out of the body would be nice, fresh. Leaving behind a skin as reptiles do, regenerating into a new, better, stronger, quicker, more efficient self. To step out of the mind would be, unfathomably good. A sterile slate of emptiness.

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