Bushed

By Conrad Beaubien

The era we’re currently living in will for sure be analysed, written and rewritten with an abundance of angles. I’m guessing that works to come will be a ‘let me count the ways’ to say perfect storm. No surprise either if Chicken Soup for Lockdown or DIY Hair Fashion for Dummies will hit the market.

The telling in one way or another will likely hover around themes of chaos and dysfunction, accounts of what happens when elements of harmony within the human condition begin to fracture. The stories of almost impossible feats and accomplishments will also be told, of those who rose above, exemplifying the potential that every one of us stands on. In the face of what we are dealing with, there are attributes in human nature that allow us to imagine a better world and set goals towards manifesting the good. Stories repeated throughout the ages help remind us that we simply live in a modern chapter, an updated version of what has already occurred.

Beyond fiction, fire circle wisdom was passed along as sagas, ballads or song, allegorical renderings that have survived time. We can entertain the mind as well as pass on lessons. Diverse religions repeat variations of the Great Story, the one of the heart where human and divine meet. Fables, Celtic stories and Aboriginal accounts hold value today as handmaidens to getting in touch with the magic, the extraordinary of life.

I like to delve through literature to help gain some idea of the ground we walk on. I admit to being a softie at heart, one to avoid negativity wherever possible and one to simply look for uplift of spirit in the calming sight of cardinals bright in a winter storm, or the magnificence in accumulating thunder clouds. But we know that there is a dark and light side to everything, where opposites come into play, such as how wonder can simultaneously collide with fear and the auto response of fight or flight. The idea of black and white and their attachment to emotion is a misnomer in my view. Black holds the presence of all colour, in fashion it is formal wear and elegant whereas white, absent of any colour, suggests innocence, openness and space. So in my renderings, skies can be formal or innocent.

Other words describe emotion in terms of space or environments, as in hope from above and threat from below mixed with the supernatural world in the underground or beneath the sea. The stories of Alice in Wonderland or Peter Pan come to mind; long-last stories like these taunt the imagination still and maintain character descriptive which appeal to our curiosities of the realm of the sublime; ‘down the rabbit hole’ is now code for seeking or analysis and then, come to think, how do we know that Peter didn’t fuel the imagination of the Wright Brothers? Through story we journey, we move forward.

Ruminating through these ideas are symptoms of lockdown, I figure. The word bushed applies here. It’s truly a Canadian adjective as in tired not so much; more like going a little off the wall, stir crazy—working a job in isolation, in a mining or lumber camp—cabin fever in other words. Pioneer literature is rife with mentions of it. But I’m not alone is how I explain it to others. I mean when I talk about the number of skin particles we shed in a day or especially in a lifetime or then again go on about the hairs in my eyebrows outperforming the tropical snake plant over in the corner of my writing room which, as a measure of time, is about to touch the ceiling. And then again, there’s ol’ Suzanna, the long legged spider in the window above my head who is non-stop spinning her world while seemingly amused that I’m amused. It’s humbling, I know. But to go on, you see I’m guessing upcoming books will tell about experiences like the aforementioned which land in the self-help section and maybe I’m off track here, I’m also thinking cookbooks with recipes that call for laying out all of the ingredients then demolishing them without the bother of cooking— especially dishes that call for wine. Then surely there’s bound to be a ‘how to’ on making instant or microwavable humble pie.

I realize I sometimes go overboard trying to figure out the realm of the universe and then again I’m apt to overthink life in general. Hard not to in instances of nights under the stars when I ponder how ancient stories told by people around the fire created social and cultural bonds and am further reminded that we are descendants of those people who were enlightened in that way. It was a sacred fire and the ceremony of communing was sacred. Stories offered an identity, inclusiveness and accountability; they celebrated differences and harmony, internal and external Being and through the use of metaphor and allegory, just as in nursery tales, they taught all-important lessons of interconnection of the life forces in all living things. They did it without phone, Internet or social media. They met face to face and held one another. That’s how they re-membered themselves as in re-assembled the members of community following separation.

All of my meander has come about with the simple act of lighting the woodstove this morning. Coffee in hand and gazing into the flames I was drawn into my own interpretations of the circles of fire wisdom back in the day. Fire circles, day or night, let’s invite them back into our social realm why not? While offering safe separation in the out-of -doors they present chances for reunion; make accord out of diversity; peace out of dissonance. We’ll rekindle the art of storytelling; bring fresh meaning to communion, to re-membering. We can do it! I’ll gather the first cord of wood and bring the smudge pot. But first I need to head out for a dose of comfort and inspiration by hugging a donkey. Bushed be dammed.