Fred is a very thoughtful person. Just the other day he said to me, “Routine is not something that I enjoy in life. It confines, ties knots, places limitations and means someone or something has control over us. Sadly society has been established to make all conform and develop routines.” I smiled and thought, “What the hell are you on about?” Without even noticing the expression of confusion on my face he continued, “I could rave here for hours.” Well I thought “it really was time to be moving on” although I had nowhere to go. Then it occurred me to that due to my age and normal bodily breakdowns, malfunctions, etc., “it is now virtually impossible for me to avoid life’s routines”.
Walking is a routine that I have had to endure for some years now. Unlike most people I do not walk to loose weight, I am too normal for that. I have to walk to keep my back and other joints working to a basic level of functionality. Having purchased a dog some months ago this has become a much more pleasurable pastime.
Where I live the terrain is very flat but as you cast your eyes further afield beyond the endless acres of suburban sprawl, there are mountains. Mountains on three sides. They are covered in a dense foliage of tropical rainforest. Almost impenetrable due to the thickness of the lush bush and trees that cover them as well as the steep slopes of thickly mulched debris that flows across the forest floor. I am graced with such a beautiful sight yet frustrated by the inaccessibility that protects them. I ask myself, “Is there really a God?”
Having always enjoyed the spectacular beauty of these mountains I have continued to dutifully fulfill my daily routine of walking with my dog, Dante. In recent weeks something has changed. Not that bush-fires have scalded the hills or that developers have come in and started massive deforestation to enable the continuation of mindless suburban sprawl. The things that have changed are that the greens of the forests are more vibrant and forever varying. The trees themselves are reaching towards their neighbours and changing direction and intensity as branches are being manipulated on the winds. The clouds caress the slopes to screen from the violent glare of the Sun’s rays.
Again I ask myself “What has changed?” and then I think “No it is not that anything has changed, the only change is in the way that I am seeing.” Suddenly I realize that “I no longer look at the mountains I find myself searching into the depths of them.” As I walk I am absorbed by the layers of the forest as it climbs the rugged slopes. I attempt to conjure up images that will fully describe the contours of these tree covered slopes. I observe the shapes of the clouds that so often slink into the valleys and seep between the high tree branches like ghosts in search of others hiding in the foliage. I look to imagine how the Aborigines and early European explorers traversed these rugged slopes and fought with the endless tangle of vines and branches to achieve their desired goals.
It is all so familiar and yet not at all. What I see is not what I have seen. There is now excitement where before just despair. As if finding words has enabled my mind to lift high up through the air. As early morn sun glimpses sly through the haze, I note that a form takes new shape with each of the rays.
Suddenly a mother is lying right there she is prone and shows no sense of worry or care. Her breasts are though shapely and firm like a ripened pear as they flow down the torso. The stomach it rises above all else, stretched to its limits as for new life to prevail. The sun’s rays have changed, the light on this thing conjures movement with each second of time there within. Then all of a sudden as if to deprive of a climax exciting yet bewildered denied, dense clouds drift along top the ridge shaped as a veil screen at the moment show the scene of a whale.” “What the hell am I seeing? What is causing me to write this and publish it on a web page? Is there really a God?”