The Photosynthesis of Being on the Kilpatrick Braes

I am in this end without loneliness an animal of light. 

Pablo Neruda

It's days like these, sun-filled and calm, that you think what joy it is to have one's health; and, to be free of the dangerous delusion that the days are there for toiling and making money, at the cost of one's airier more spacious Self.

Sun, for we Scots, is like a kiwi fruit. Its rarity brings curious looks and suspicion (Aye, but we'll pay for it!)... But it is a rarity that like certain precious metals, or indeed extra-noble gases, can do you a lot of good if you manage to collect the right amount of it.

Everyone has a 'sun-bag' that gathers sunshine and warmth, and keeps it there much like a piggy bank in case we need it for a rainy day. The more sun one collects the more incandescent one becomes until, ideally, the light irradiates through one's skin, illuminating all those around you.

As I have intimated before, humans are simply plants that have not yet awoken to this reality. They have become too corrupted, too fast, too dark, to realize this. The result is a stunting of growth in its fullest sense and a lack of flowering.

It always pains me to notice that when I am in the hills photosynthesizing all these impoverished souls in offices are being denied their primal rights to the light. And just as collecting light can amplify being, so too can denying light negate it. If you are not in communication with the light, then you are in trouble, ecologically, economically, and existentially. We are all animals of light whether we like it or not.

To hole oneself up in the midst of such light is an abberation, and another perversion of Nature's ways, which leads to more perversions and abberations. I've always thought that compassionate employers (humane employers) would allow you to take the day off when such light-filled days occur, which you could make up for later on (or not). Imagine that? An employer that understands the value of the sun, and of not being cooped up in a closet whilst its burning...

Chance would be a fine thing...

Dug in to the south-face of the Kilpatrick Braes as the wind blows down from the north.