A Return To Baby Days

It is one of those cliched days when you’re content just watching a flower being blown gently by the wind while the half-baked sun hides behind a cloud. But then the next day you wake up and it’s nothing but death, sorrow and madness. Often I or we are caught betwixt the two, of life having depth, and life as a depth of despair. And knowing whether it’s possible to deliberately manage or engineer the situation so that it is always the better. My musings are that when in those good moments we have managed, by accident, to slip away from the self perpetuating I and end up by accident in those baby days, when all was good. We often end up wishing how we can get back to those simple times. As babies we just rolled around in contentment smiling and laughing at everything and then you stare up at the woman that brought you into the world, and sounds are coming from her mouth, and she is pointing at you. It’s not to long before you mimic that sound and the separation occurs. This is aided and abetted by the taste of bland foods which mostly produce a negative response to which you can only howl at until you are given a sweet brown sticky substance and your entire being explodes with joy. A joy much greater than the natural joy you were initially experiencing and thus the separation continues further. You are now a sound emitted from your mouth, and the other person is also a sound, and you now have a taste for other things that taste sweet, or brightly colored toys that make loud noises. And you start to create a list of things you like and the things you don’t like and seek these things out like an obsession. Meanwhile many years have passed by and you’re reading ‘The Guardian’ and bemoaning the world and how technology is changing to fast, or the lateness of the trains, and that wine at the restaurant that seemed a little off. And then the sun shifts behind a half-cloud and you go outside and something shifts inside you and you have again returned to those baby days. The flowers and grass are moving slightly. The wind is barely noticeable as you stare out into the distance with contentment. Time becomes imperceptible. Joy rises and then falls. A phone rings distracting you from the peace and its back into the self-perpetuating illusion. Only a hair-breadths away from those baby days.

A Baby Smiling
A Baby Smiling
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