It's funny how you can think a topic has been covered but it won't let you rest in (living) peace. Not that I'm complaining, I adore the feelings that come from free play in thinking.
This morning I found myself contemplating the effects of atmospheric re-entry (of the space cadet kind) if our atmosphere was indeed some kind of amniotic sac. Following this line of thinking I decided that rockets & space shuttles bursting into & out of this atmosphere could be akin to amniocentesis - "in which a small amount of amniotic fluid, which contains fetal tissues, is extracted from the amnion or amniotic sac surrounding a developing fetus... A needle is usually inserted through the mother's abdominal wall through the wall of the uterus into the amniotic sac...
...possible complications include infection of the amniotic sac from the needle, and failure of the puncture to heal properly, which can result in leakage or infection. Serious complications can result in miscarriage. Other possible complications include preterm labor and delivery, respiratory distress, postural deformities, fetal trauma and alloimmunisation."
It's truely mind-boggling how immensely unimportant our atmosphere has become, unless of course you can make money out of it
Today I have played with ideas following along in what has seemed like a trail left in the air.
I thought of how 'sciencing' has bleached away the beauty & connectedness of life by translating our world into words & then storing it away in volumes of volumes.
Words have often confused me & in the mouths of those who know how to use or abuse them, they can twist & turn in all sorts of twisty-turny directions.
I thought words were meant to be a device to tell stories, so that if we cannot be somewhere or experience something then a 'teller of tales' could alchemically transform them into words that could be reformed within the listener. However it seems to me that sigh-ence dissected, analysed & recorded our world in such a way that the mystical fluid was syphoned off & we fell asleep. And now like Little Bo-Peep & her missing sheep, we don't know where to find it.
Anyway let's get on to a strange sentence.
I have long been bothered by 'the'.
'The' world, 'the' environment, 'the' air.
This use of the word 'the' has to my mind, been spectacularly effective in removing us from our natural world. Imagine if you used 'the' as a title for those you loved - ie. 'the child', 'the friend', 'the parent' - can you feel even the slightest connection?
So today I thought about 'the air', but instead of mounting my high horse & riding off into the sunset (actually it was probably more noonish) I decided to play with this 'the' .
If you take hold of the air & give it a little shake, it becomes I earth - now that IS something I can relate to. This takes us beautifully back to the myths where earth & sky (Papa & Rangi in NZ mythology) were once one.
The air = I earth = the air = I earth = sky = earth = sky = earth
When we sleep at night does air become earth & earth air? Sigh-ence has told us that plants change at night & breathe as we do, that's a pretty mighty transformation.
Getting more lyrical, let's look at the word breath - the thing that makes us live in this world - breath - go on play with it ........
... & what do we have here - let's breathe in a breath & breathe out (b)earth. But that's not all, because if you gently re-mould that re-formation & say it loud on an out-breath you get 'b-earth' - the sound of BIRTH.
Here we are back again at the amniotic sac of our pregnant atmosphere
In researching for the article that I thought I would be writing here, I came across an amazing tale of a sun goddess - almost all my travels through mythology have so far linked the sun with the masculine. However in playing with this pregnant earth theme, it has seemed rather wonderful to visualise a mother sun, if for no other reason than a developing child requires the heat of it's mother's body to grow. In my play today I have visualised our whole solar system as a gigantic goddess whose head is the sun & whose pregnant belly is our world. In this world the moon becomes the father, the one who watches over us at night.
For a long time I thought that it was the yolk of an egg that turned into a chicken, the see through stuff was just the extra bit. So I keep wondering about our air, you know that see-through stuff that's just th-air. Everything in our life is carried out within it. Every word you speak or hear is carried in it. It's with you every step you take. Life ceases to be in this world without it - just what exactly is it - I mean above & beyond it's labelling as a collection of gases?
Could it be that air is alive? Is it consciousness? Does it read & hold our thoughts? Is it THE substance that transforms our thoughts into our reality?
Watching Autumn here in the Southern Hemisphere has left me wondering about the changing leaves. I recently read a factual account of plant hormones - it left me unsatisfied.
I prefer to wonder.
Do leaves change colour for the wind? Are their vibrant shades an offering of beauty (&; play) to the wind? Do these leaves tell to the wind, their stories of summer passed? When the wind swirls through the trees do the leaves jump for joy into it's all-encompassing embrace? Do leaves call up the wind & do they wait for their breeze to give themselves up to?
Why is our air now under such a vicious & constant assault - chemtrails, HAARP, light & air pollution & never ending air wave disturbance. Is it because our world's amniotic fluid is trying to reach us with messages of imminent birthing or perhaps we are waking up enough to realise or re-member who we are.
