in the last few weeks of hibernation, the brain starts to wake up again — the body still cold and idle, but those neurons can see ahead, they start to fire in anticipation of what might happen, of opportunities that come after the thaw… help me to do what others won’t —
I am touched by that final line of notes reflecting on the best-laid schemes of the squirrel: "...nature will remember you." In a way, you've neatly and succinctly summed up the process and goal at which all writers and poets and creatives aim--to do our best at what we do, and ultimately not to be forgotten.
I’m thinking of that squirrel. It’s believed that they can anticipate the future, at least as the availability of food is concerned. And they may be able to dream for brief times during hibernation.
What was that squirrel thinking as it froze? Was he (let’s say it was a he) thinking or dreaming? Did he know he was dying? Could he feel that he was freezing? Did all his seeds and nuts and hiding places flash before his closed eyes?
Do squirrels have vivid dreams? Was he aware that he was dying as he was dreaming? Did it occur to him , in a sudden flash of realisation, that he couldn’t take it with him?
I feel this! I am a bear waking up so slowly at the moment. The older I get the more hibernation seems like the only way to live and the waking seems a bit harder!
I feel this in my bones! I have problem with transitions as well (I tend to get sick when the seasons change and daylight savings throws me for a loop)
I've been doing some writing about spring as well and I very much resonate with your squirrel this year.
Beautiful and touching as always, Franco :) "If you did your best and stayed true to yourself, then nature will remember you." It's very nice to hear :)
For someone who thinks all the time (probably far too much) I don't reflect on transitions. I tend to drift and allow the "forces" to propel me forward. This isn't a perfect method nor one I've perfected but it seems to suit me. I think the squirrel did its best. Made plans, took stock, and with all of that still fell short - it happens. To all of us. We reach for the future as if we know what it will be and then it changes as our hand is about to touch it. Do we withdraw and try again later - or just embrace whatever is there? All interesting thoughts. Thanks for the nudge, Franco.
Dude, you must be a masochist. This one was good. I like the slower pace, so much of your work lately has been quickfire in its tempo, this one is slowing down and reflecting. Just as one should do at the end of winter. Kind of a hopeless ending though. It the lowest ever seen, like hitting rock bottom.
The price we pay for being children of chance, born of a billion bright improbabilities that prevailed over the staggering odds of nothingness and eternal night, is the admission of our total cosmic helplessness.
Because our locus of choice is so narrow against the immensity of chance, nothing haunts human life more than the consequences of our choices, nothing pains more than the wistful wish to have chosen more wisely and more courageously — the chance untaken, the love unleapt, the unkind word in the time for tenderness.
Don’t be afraid to be confused. Try to remain permanently confused. Anything is possible. Stay open, forever, so open it hurts, and then open up some more, until the day you die, world without end, amen.
I am touched by that final line of notes reflecting on the best-laid schemes of the squirrel: "...nature will remember you." In a way, you've neatly and succinctly summed up the process and goal at which all writers and poets and creatives aim--to do our best at what we do, and ultimately not to be forgotten.
I’m thinking of that squirrel. It’s believed that they can anticipate the future, at least as the availability of food is concerned. And they may be able to dream for brief times during hibernation.
What was that squirrel thinking as it froze? Was he (let’s say it was a he) thinking or dreaming? Did he know he was dying? Could he feel that he was freezing? Did all his seeds and nuts and hiding places flash before his closed eyes?
Do squirrels have vivid dreams? Was he aware that he was dying as he was dreaming? Did it occur to him , in a sudden flash of realisation, that he couldn’t take it with him?
I feel this! I am a bear waking up so slowly at the moment. The older I get the more hibernation seems like the only way to live and the waking seems a bit harder!
I feel this in my bones! I have problem with transitions as well (I tend to get sick when the seasons change and daylight savings throws me for a loop)
I've been doing some writing about spring as well and I very much resonate with your squirrel this year.
Beautiful and touching as always, Franco :) "If you did your best and stayed true to yourself, then nature will remember you." It's very nice to hear :)
I know what it's like to be thawed from ice.
My favorite line: "show me that I can succeed
as myself
and not cave to the system’s intentions…
Poor squirrel, but I so get it. This resonates big time.
stellar writing—I always look forward to it
For someone who thinks all the time (probably far too much) I don't reflect on transitions. I tend to drift and allow the "forces" to propel me forward. This isn't a perfect method nor one I've perfected but it seems to suit me. I think the squirrel did its best. Made plans, took stock, and with all of that still fell short - it happens. To all of us. We reach for the future as if we know what it will be and then it changes as our hand is about to touch it. Do we withdraw and try again later - or just embrace whatever is there? All interesting thoughts. Thanks for the nudge, Franco.
"it hurts to be original,
there’s pain in what’s unique,"
Dude, you must be a masochist. This one was good. I like the slower pace, so much of your work lately has been quickfire in its tempo, this one is slowing down and reflecting. Just as one should do at the end of winter. Kind of a hopeless ending though. It the lowest ever seen, like hitting rock bottom.
The price we pay for being children of chance, born of a billion bright improbabilities that prevailed over the staggering odds of nothingness and eternal night, is the admission of our total cosmic helplessness.
Because our locus of choice is so narrow against the immensity of chance, nothing haunts human life more than the consequences of our choices, nothing pains more than the wistful wish to have chosen more wisely and more courageously — the chance untaken, the love unleapt, the unkind word in the time for tenderness.
Don’t be afraid to be confused. Try to remain permanently confused. Anything is possible. Stay open, forever, so open it hurts, and then open up some more, until the day you die, world without end, amen.
Keep them coming. We need your views
Loved this
Compliment: Garbage Notes is never vulgar. Thank you.
"to confront the truth that waits for us
in isolation..."
once more succinctly describing the purpose of the last 10 years of my life-excellent as always Franco