We were pleasantly surprised yesterday to come across a "splash pad" half way along on a long hot walk home. The water refreshed us as you would expect and gave us the will to go on. The kids darted through sprigs of water. My son looked down and discovered that the spurting water created a giant surface under which there were all kinds of cracks and a holes that when played with in a certain way allowed you to churn the water downwards into little crevices. The colour of the concrete bathed us in a turquoise light that intensified our relief and insisted on how different this day was from all the wet and chilly days that preceded it. It cast a shimmery light that backlit new possibilities.
We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
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