What the terrain had to tell me

The lily pads on the little dam felt like delicate embodiments of the human children of all ages for whom the world is at this moment grieving. In wintry colours of flesh, rust and olive they seemed to be finely-sliced cross-sections of brains, floating here now, defying all explanation, delivered to this sanctuary, being breathed by wind, which was sharp and insistent, and combing his patterns persistently towards me. And I wondered whether "the beautiful" really does "change in such kind ways" (Richard Wilbur), and whether there really is a "mercy of wild things" as Barbara Fairhead has written. And whether I was transgressing something by seeing the lily pads in such an unexpected way? There was no contrivance, but it is true that my heart was unable to hear in the clatter of the bendy reeds anything other than a hoarse, multiplicitous grief. The Afrikaans word 'snik' came to mind to describe the sound they made - a perfect onomatopoeiac word to denote the spine-wracking gasps that often accompany intense sobs.

Despite my melancholy state, the communion of lily leaves and wind and water with my bemusement left me feeling no worse. A little clearer, anyway, about the depth of grief mantling our world. As if such a ‘living cemetery' in the sun, whence new blooms will soon spring, is the only way I am given to see the spirits of these many, once-warm beings?

Wisdom #22

Christmas '23 my Beloved gave me a tiny notebook, with a condition.

"This is not for poems," he warned (possibly thinking of the mess of scribbles that make up my notebooks),"it's only for wisdoms."

I've a nose for limitations that yield good quarry, hence I surrendered with gladness. Whenever I came across words that seemed worthy of copying out by hand, another page was filled in my little book. In all this time, I have gathered a total of 32 wisdoms. I haven't nearly half-filled the book. 

Then, last Thursday, he sent me a link to a YouTube clip, which I listened to while doing the dishes a moment ago. The clip makes for pretty worthy listening at this time in human history. It triggered my memory of a wisdom I'd written in one of my journals at the time (November '24) – my very own wisdom, born from my own experiences of a lifetime, which I decided to jot down in my little book. When I was done and had dried my hands, I went and found what I had written down. This:

Wisdom #22

I simply cannot think in groups. I can feel in and with groups, but think only as an individual.

– Silke Heiss, 9th November 2024

C'est tout. That is all. All-important, I'd say without a moment's hesitation, at this horrific time of historic mass psychosis (this link leads to the same YouTube video* as the one above). 

A wisdom based on pure experience. And: won from closely, but closely observing my own mind over the many decades.

*If you want the video in shorthand, please refer to Silke's Wisdom #22. Most importantly, please apply the wisdom as a daily practice. Earmark this blog. Think for and by yourself alone. Practise it. Stand firm. It's f***ing hard and completely vital for the survival of the human being. 

Note: being. Not species. The human being is far, far more important than the human species, who are, as we can clearly see, not important in the least.