There is a river somewhere near the place you grew up which always reminds you of memories of your father and siblings. Even if those memories are very difficult to make into something certain, they exist on the fringes of your awareness, lurking.
Running water and thick mud. Snails and woodlice. Making a fire and roasting sticks on the fire. Making things from leaves. Not feeling alone. Being a part of nature being apart from nature.
Someone can come and lift you bodily out of the mud and place you in the field next to your house or the road next to your house and you can play with them and jump over a rope or kick a ball and be a part of the physical universe.
Children are part of the physical universe. I am a part of the non physical universe. My body is made into a paste and my mind is under nourished. Everyone gets old and is no longer part of the physical universe. Athletes are not part of the physical universe.
No one who is a grown up loves the physical universe.
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3 comments:
I now regularly fall over in the physical universe. Though I have a feeling I was none too keen on the physical universe before I was a wise (supposedly) and jaded (definitely) adult, either.
A beautiful and thought-provoking piece of prose, though.
i want to eat mud with you.
I will name pet after you some day.
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