Suspended between the trees, I am challenged on my path, my slowing meandering. I wonder, is there a point? That speed is necessary, to be able to divide by time and getting a bigger top number. Necessary is a strong word. And I say no, it is not, by my definition of necessary. If I were to nap beneath the trees and never wake up, would that be a failure? Absolutely not. The legitimacy of “to be cut short” is all the evidence I need that speed is not worth measuring. If time is so relative, how are miles per hour relevant? I believe they are not. A mile could take years, generations. Would that be a crime? I’m not sure, I successfully failed to go to law school. Would it be evil? I’m not sure, I didn’t get confirmed. So I’ll sit under and between these trees and feel the love of the leaves and the birds, as I am now. And I will feel no shame, no shame whatsoever. Because to lay about at zero miles per year emits limited carbon. To keep a clear calendar keeps one from being late. To sleep plenty when one is being tired prevents exhaustion. I hear the inventor of medicine when he says that walking is the cure to all ails, would make the medical profession obsolete. So too, would doing very little cure the remaining ails, of expectations, predictions, and harms. “The world will be destroyed” is all well and good. Certainly the sun will swallow it up eventually. The world is being destroyed is probably accurate on many definitions. “I will destroy” is not in my plans though. Neither is “I will win”. Those are scary quotes that used to inhabit my body (when I say body, I include my mind. The idea that the body is separate from the mind is absurd, no thank you to Descartes. The brain is inside my skull and my imagination comes from there, in addition to those touchy little gut bacteria.) These scary quotes still partially inhabit me, and will certainly be a part of any histories I attempt. But under this tree, I feel the peace and calm and non-solitude that green, slow things tend to offer.
I helped a turtle cross the road, not by picking it up, but by talking to it and walking slowly behind it. The turtle was at first surprised and hissed. And then ploddingly made way toward the marsh from the lake. The smile on a woman’s face as she watched as she was walking is still with me; we participated in the same happy transfer. I’m here to help.
I feel anticipation. Tensile calm. Some birdsong. Energetic. The days move by and I move through them. I have found a rhythm of sleep again. The last year is starting to ease back out to sea, of course not forever, but for a little while. I close my eyes and sway between the trees. I do not have hopes to be read. My fears about money have ebbed. I believe I will take a nap.
Roman Ryan 