Previously
Nunco, Preteritus and Prostremo have now been on the road for three days and nights. Their evolution has been quite remarkable almost transcending time and space.
Nunco has upon reflection understood more clearly many of the lessons from the past on how he can apply them to his life, to enjoy a fulfilling and rewarding future.
Prostremo has become more balanced with less reliance on the future and has taken time to enjoy life in the present as he sampled some of the wonders our universe surrounds us with.
Preteritus has managed to shake many of the limiting beliefs of the past and seen them for what they really are; illusions that can cast a shadow over his current and future health and wellbeing.
The story continued
The last vestiges of the dream were still in Nunco's minds eye as he awoke to the vague sounds of the birds twittering in the branches above his tent. He could smell the blended fragrance of turf and bracken wafting through the apron of the tent and he knew in his heart and soul that today was the day. What was going to happen he didn't know, but he knew it would be significant.
The others were still asleep, adrift in their own personal worlds, seeing things that none of us can really remember, floating through the hidden depths of the mind, images, distorted through the difficulty in remembering. Personal, yet still influenced by beliefs, experiences and who knows maybe even connections to the universe we inhabit, foretelling of things yet to occur.
As he stretched, Nunco's thoughts drifted back to the dream, the image was now even clearer, he could almost hear his mother's voice as she told him ‘There's no such thing as I can't'. Dreams have a mysterious way of taking events from the past or even imaginings about the future and subtly overlaying one's current emotions upon them.
Reality layers into fiction, intricate strands of truth stretched by unclear distortions. These half-truths often appear as our perception of the world as it really is. Not all dreams need to be in sleep since so many of us drift in and out of trance in our everyday lives.
The reality strands in Nunco's dream were the day he first rode his new bicycle. Way too big for him, he could barely reach the pedals when on the saddle, which had been put down as low as it would go. Like many children, his mother had economised with the words “You will grow into it”.
He could see that bicycle so clearly in his mind's eye. It was gold, with shining silver wheels and spokes. The mudguards were plastic and the brakes didn't squeak like the old black bicycle with the woven wicker work basket across the handlebars did. It was his pride and joy, yet he still had to master it.
What an appropriate thing to surface in his consciousness, because he remembered that he had also thought on that day, all those years ago, that today was the day. He was going to ride that bicycle, it was going to glide along, with his feet pumping down on the pedals and he would experience a personal transformation.
He would achieve something, yet the essence of which he was, the true heart of Nunco would remain the same, just perhaps a little bit stronger.
Over and over in his head, that phrase ringing out again and again – there's no such thing as I can't – yet it wasn't quite right – it didn't match the pattern of his experience up to now, there was some subtle change he needed to make. In fact there was a change he had already made.
“I can do it – I can do anything I believe I can do!”
Past and presented melded together, he got up, perched on the edge of the saddle, pushed off with his foot, wobbled madly, panic setting in, keep going, doing what – doing something, yes, pedal – push – yes, momentum – push other foot, standing up now, sort of, can't sit on saddle and go up and down on each side, all lopsided.
It's going, its moving forward, widely careening from side to side, nearly hits the side of the house, the gravel crunches as he straightens up for all of 2 seconds, now feet pumping like crazy, speed really starting, fear and exhilaration all mixed up, now reaches the crest of the hill, its all down now, but it's straight.
Wind in his hair, tears streaming down his face, joy and fear and happiness and something indescribable – “I can do it, I can do anything – I can, I can, I really can” he yells, the bottom of the hill, hard turn right, yanks the handlebars over too much – veers wildly, not in control now, never really was, yet now its there, the real fear.
The adrenalin surge in that small six year old body was so great, that he hardly felt a thing as he went head first into that seething mass of physical pain and upcoming trauma.
The barbed wire slicing through his young thigh, little ragged lumps of skin hanging off the gleaming hooks. The little twists of wire, cruelly positioned as a deterrent against the thick leathery hide of cows were particularly invasive against the soft smooth skin of young Nunco. The poison injected by the soft, yet deadly sharp nettles, raised little white bumps of pain amidst the myriad lattice of red, faintly oozing scratches of the briars.
“I had a dream last night” Nunco tells Mike, “it was so vivid, I can still hear all of the sounds, feel the intense pain and yet there was also something fantastic because it was a recreation of one of the most important achievements of my life”
Today, that pain is but a memory, yet the ongoing living embodiment of achievement is clearly visible to Mike as he looks deep into Nunco's eyes and its flame slowly being fanned back to life. He also sees something else there though, so faint, so well hidden, a sadness barely discernable yet so potent that he feels that its significance is massive.
Mike's gaze of recognition was interrupted by sounds coming from the tents. A sleepy looking Prostremo popped his head through the tent flap and taking a long deep breath of the clear air, ducked back inside.
“Ok sleepy-head, time to get up” his muffled command to Electra could be heard as the incessant screech of a magpie broke through the quiet. It was as the sound registered in his consciousness that Nunco realised how alive and noisy the surrounding really were.
Nunco turned to Mike, “How come we sometimes just don't hear things, even though we are surrounded by activity and life?”
“It could be our awareness and how we perceive things” replied Mike. “We have five senses and if each were to operate at the conscious level all of the time, we would be completely swamped and end up in a complete trance. In many ways, that is what stress is all about – Overload!
“Our brain has a filter on it, which cuts out most of what happens around us and in effect we only really notice what we pay attention to. That is unless something breaks our focus, like the screech of that magpie that just entered your awareness.”
“Perceptive indeed!” said Mike, “but what's really going on in there, deep in that wonderful mind of yours. I can almost hear pride and yet I still sense something else, something like a veil covering up sadness. Do you want to talk about it?”
Nunco gulped, a mini convulsion wracked his body, “I don't know! If I knew what it was it might be easy – yet you're right there is something, I was happy then and I haven't completely been true to myself ever since. Sure I crashed my bike, but I did it, I rode the damn thing, I overcame ‘I can't' and I just did it!”
“And what happened then?” asked Mike, “I have met many people on my travels and I see a deep optimism in you, a belief in yourself and yet there still seems to be something holding you back!”
“I'm still not sure, but hey, If I knew what it was I would go back and tell that six year old, that it's OK.” Said Nunco.
“So if you did know, would that really help?” asked Mike, gently probing.
“It's, It's..” Nunco broke off, his body wracked in great convulsions, tears rolled down his face as it hit him like a thunderbolt. He slumped to the ground, pain pouring out of him, running like fire through his body. Unknown emotions welled up in him as his life flashed past his inner eye, events unconnected, yet connected through this need, this terrible all consuming need he hadn't known existed.
Like an ice crystal forming, perfection from the purity of life giving water, solid it its own unity, yet blocking momentum stilling the flow of movement, growth and self fulfilment. Realisation with flashes and glimmers of enlightenment, he knew, he just knew deep inside him that he had to melt this blockage, process it through his system using all the resources he had within.
It was then that Nunco heard the birds sing, their sweet mellifluous continuity of all that is pure, careless in their ongoing pursuit of life. The backdrop of nature surrounding him was one of stillness and peace and yet he was still disconnected from it.
He had to make that connection, be at peace with himself, start to love deeply that person who was at one with everything…
If you want to see how the story finishes, contact petr@3r.ie.
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