I’m lying on my back, awake in bed with my mind wide open.
Whatever it is, it courses my body invigorating the very nerve fibres of my being. And with it a thousand tiny ants dance across the skin’s surface, their minute legs tickling me to excitement and a new level of alertness.
It is the reason that my toes are numb and I’m starting to shiver, writing this as I am, in clothes wet from a morning’s ride, damp leggings clinging to my quadriceps, an unattended hunger rumbling in my stomach and a workload sitting in the aether, awaing my attention and…
…it is the way my muscles ache from the run of my life yesterday, alerting me to their presence with a body-wide hunger for consumption, my gut echoes the groans of confusion from my legs – is this pleasure or pain? – the arch of my foot swells, perhaps with pride and…
…it is the realisation that pain is good (sometimes), that the line between enjoyment and discomfort is a fine one, that the unwritten rules of “fun”, “good” and “normal” have not made it to print for a reason (they do not exist), that cycling in the rain is a treat, that missing the train is a giggle, the wave of a stranger, the splash of a puddle, the whir of traffic and the queue at the supermarket, these are the joys of life and they are not to be missed and…
…why are you sitting there? how can you read the paper, do the washing up, listen to the radio when the world is out there and you are a part of it? why does no one share this with me? why can you not see these remarkable things? what purpose have they whilst remaining unspoken? and…
…and…
…and reality arrives with the predictability of a clock striking noon. I sit at my desk and a reflection barely visible stares back from the cold void of a computer screen which hides emails, to do lists, work, bank statements. Normal. Life.
Is that silence?
Is it the gap left by ants crushed with each press of a key, their existence dependent on excitement and vanquished by routine? I have fallen into the very trap I gleefully danced around, pointing with bewilderment at the naive ensnared, unaware of the world’s motion, at once rapid and perpetual. I stood on the outside yet I am a part of it, I am inside like everyone else.
Is that silence?
Or…
…if you listen closely, can you hear still the quiet shuffle of a thousand tiny feet as ants reassamble, silenced for now but ready to dance at the very next sign of life?
My computer starts and my fingers type as they have done on every other day of the week, month, year, only, now they do so with a tingling sensation, almost imperceptible but unequivocally felt.
