a schematic overview

(We've had a bit of a tug-of-war about this post, my creative genius and I. It went more or less like this:

She: 'Here, this is what I want you to write next.'
Me: 'You must be out of your mind!'
She:  'Here, this is what I want you to write next.'
Me: 'No way!'
She: 'Here, this is what I want you to write next.'
Me: 'But it's a blog about mothering!'
She: 'Here, this is what I want you to write next.'
Me: 'But, but... I will make a fool of myself, nobody will ever read a word I write anymore, I will look like an idiot, people will point and laugh at me in the street (the two and a half who know it's me, should they ever pass by my street, at a moment when I am out too, and not be my mum, and happen to see me, and have nothing better to do), people will be irate, or bored, or ...'
She: 'Here, this is what I want you to write next.'
Me: ...

So, having settled that to everyone's satisfaction, and at the risk of sounding like a cross between six-year old Saint-Exupéry and a demented Brigitte Kaandorp, here we go...)

I recently made a discovery, about life and death (you know. the usual), that is kind of rocking my world, and which I would like, schematically as it were, to share with you today. But first, allow me to back-track a little.

When I was a child, and in response to my queries (I was that kind of kid), this is what grown-ups told me about life and death.

First, there was nothing (people were extremely, extremely vague about this bit, despite repeated attempts to obtain information). Then there was birth (here my mother and biology teacher rather helpfully provided the details). Then there was life, which hopefully would be long, prosperous, and full of adventures (can't say about the long yet, but check and check on the latter two). And then there was death, which all agreed was the end of life as we know it, and involved some or lots of pain, followed by rapid bodily decay.

After this point, opinions diverged widely.... from a return to the original vague nothing, to choirs of angels on clouds fiddling arias while deserving souls frolicked about and stuffed themselves with sweets, to a great many in-betweens (the variety expanded as I grew and came into contact with other grown-ups).

Lo and behold, turns out it's not like that at all.

(drum roll)

(I'm going to let you sit with that for a bit)

I guess this is what Galileo must have felt like, as he stared at the horizon of what he had known his entire life to be a flat pancake.

(drum roll)

(all right, enough sitting)

The rest of the information in this post is based entirely on something a fat robin in the forest near my house told me a few weeks ago.

(On a funny note, this was the same week I was doing a long (loooong) translation on psychosis, with extensive descriptions of early warning signs and precursor symptoms...) (nothing to do with discussing the meaning of life with small birds, obviously...)

One day, he (the robin) flew down from his usual perch in a bush on my left, hopped towards my foot, put his head to one side, and told me this

(drum roll. last one, I promise.)

'That in you which is alive has always been alive. 

That in you which was born and will die 

has been dying (and being born) all along.'

There. That's how it actually is.

('how it actually is' turned out to be a lot harder to draw that 'how I used to think it was'. But schematic or not, it is a great relief...)

Have a lovely Sunday.