28 States of Mind

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Stephen Whiteside
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28 States of Mind

Post by Stephen Whiteside » Wed Nov 09, 2011 5:53 am

28 States of Mind

© Stephen Whiteside 08.11.2011

Horatio resumed his journey downstream, his good friend Magnifico now by his side. He felt wonderful. Surely, this was as good as it gets. Every step took him into new country, as always. The creek was a reassuring presence with its bubbling water. The moon and stars created an eerie beauty of their own, and also offered so much protection. It was a perfect night for travelling, really - just enough light to see by, not too much to be seen by.

Owls were the main threat, he figured. He wasn’t sure what to do about that. Owls were not something he knew very much about. Most likely, if they were attacked by one they would have little warning. It paid to be philosophical about these things. There is only so much one can do to protect oneself. At the end of the day, if your time is up, your time is up. The trick is, in the meantime, to make every moment count. That was Horatio’s philosophy, anyway. Make every moment count. And he was certainly making these.

There was something so ‘other worldly’ about the moon and stars. Which was a silly thing to think, really, because that is exactly what they were. Other worlds. But it was so easy to lose perspective in the day-time. To think you were at the centre of the universe. When really, they were living on a planet that was probably small and insignificant and on the fringe of things. Whatever ‘things’ were. And there was something reassuring about that. It relieved one of any great sense of
responsibility, or even importance. It helped Horatio live his life for himself, unencumbered by any great feeling of a desire to please or satisfy or mollify others - not that Horatio felt a particularly strong sense of that in the day-time either, mind you. Still, he had lived his life that way nonetheless, looking after his parents. But now that had changed. Finally, it had changed. The dream was coming true.

Magnifico trotted alongside Horatio in a very different frame of mind, however. It was good to be with his friend once more, that was true, but he would really much prefer to be snuggled up in bed. The night frightened him, if anything. It was so hard to see anything. The landscape looked unfriendly and unfamiliar. Even simple things like bushes took on wild and distorted forms. And the heavens looked so black and frightening. Sometimes he could imagine he was looking down at the night sky instead of up into it. And it felt like a great black pit. A pit he could fall into and be swallowed up by forever.

And it was all so vast and timeless. And the distances were so large as to be utterly incomprehensible. It made him feel so small and insignificant. No, the night-time was not his favourite time of day at all.

It was true, he had run away from home. He had run away from the circus, he had run away from his family, and he had run away from being the ‘Strong Mouse’. He didn’t feel like a strong mouse. Not physically, any way. Emotionally? Perhaps. He wasn’t sure about that. What was strength anyway, at the end of the day? There seemed to be so many different types of strength. And sometimes strength looked like weakness, and vice versa. Perhaps that was the attraction of physical strength. It was about the only type of strength that could not be mistaken for weakness. And yet he had known mice who were quite physically strong who he had regarded as cowards, really. So what use was physical strength?

Clearly, it did have its uses. Particularly for a wild mouse. It allowed him to carry all that cheese when he first left home. But when he lost the cheese, strength didn’t help him find any more, did it? Strength of imagination might have, though. Or strength of will. Strength of purpose. So many types of strength.

But Magnifico was not feeling strong right now. He was feeling rather weak, and frightened, and tired. He was no longer doing his regular weight-lifting exercises, and his once bulging muscles, of which he had been so proud, were fading away before his very eyes. A different type of muscle, a wiry, resilient muscle, made for the long haul rather than short, spectacular bursts, was growing in their stead, but Magnifico did not appreciate this. All he felt was that he was growing weaker. Of course, his fatigue, and fear of the night did not help.

He also had a fear of the unknown. This was something he had not realised before, and seems an odd quality for one who has abandoned the familiar, and he hadn’t even realised it until now, but it was clearly true. He didn’t like constantly encountering new landscapes, new challenges. It unsettled him. Each time, he was overcome with feelings of inadequacy, and outright fear. Each change was a new set of problems to face. And he didn’t like it. To be honest, he just didn’t like it.

And so the two continued side by side, each lost in his own thoughts. For Horatio, it was a time of wonder and joy. But for poor little Magnifico, trotting gamely at his side. It was very different. Very different indeed.
Stephen Whiteside, Australian Poet and Writer
http://www.stephenwhiteside.com.au

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