Island Blog – A Bluebottle

It was behind something. When I wheeched out the riser recliner chair in order to move it on, there was this low buzzing like the dying sound of a motor. I watched it lift, just, into the room as if suddenly awoken and a tad unsure about the whole wing working thing. Oh, hallo, I said, as it almost took me out in its faulty rise and watched it carry on across the room towards the dim winter windowlight. You poor thing, left behind by all your mates, your tribe, all of whom, to my knowledge became a robin’s lunch some time ago. I am not sure your fate holds a better ending, but I won’t kill you, so fly on my friend. That was two days ago and it is still here. I notice it doesn’t do what it would have done in the summer, pinging itself against windows in a desperate fight to get outside of the inside and leaving black stuff on the frames that is frickin hard to wipe off.

The next day it swings into my bedroom, does a couple of loops, checks out the lamp just in case this light is the right light leading to freedom, the chance to soar into the sky, into danger, but to soar, nonetheless. I quite fancy soaring. I haven’t heard it today but, unless it grabbed the short chance of my sorties to the wood pile when the back door is wide open, it is still on the inside of out. I don’t look for it. Its presence bothers me not. Perhaps, by now, my lodgers have caught it, for they are always hungry and quick off the mark. Their webs are stronger this time of year. I sort of miss it. It was a living thing with sound effects inside the complete quiet of a solitary life. It thinks me, not the me part but the bluebottle part, that deep inner need to escape the inside, to find an outside full of perceived promise. I notice my thoughts. I can’t tell you how fascinating that process is. To stop and to study, then to question what I was thinking, or why that thought came at me slam dunk and out of the blue. A first reaction to an uncomfortable thought is to push it away and to ‘get busy’ with an ordinary task. In other words, to deny its existence. But it did exist. It came to me, the thought and then the feeling and the feeling was not one I wanted, so I denied it. In my past, but not now that I am wiser on such matters. Now I let all thoughts in without fear or denial. Discomfort or the skittles of fear I can bowl down with a good eye whilst still hearing the Bluebottle buzz. You are here. I see you. I hear you. You are no match for me, more, I am not your enemy and you are not mine. We just co-exist.

As I consider the outside of inside, I could in my past, and did, have to run, to get out, to be faster than my thoughts, to dam the flow that sounded like a river in flood or a thousand bluebottles coming for me. Not this day. This day, feeling floaty after my booster and flu jabs, I smile and settle. I light the fire and find a film to watch. I lift into the storyline. My thoughts settle beside me. We like this one, they say. A gentle sweet story and well acted.

Me too, I say. Me too.

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