What was this? A ten ton rhino storming past my work station on its way to disembowel lunch? No, ’twas the waif-like female from the next department, asserting her presence in high heeled shoes.
Do so many women do this – this stomping, aggressive walk – because they have so much suppressed anger or rage and it’s the only way they can express it? Or do they think, perhaps, that they appear more commanding, more assertive, more…errr..masculine if they walk as though the ground offended them?
I’m not sure. I do know that the House martins were swooping joyously this morning, under a lowering grey sky, and that my Cape Sparrow friends, having ignored me on Monday when I came back from a week’s leave, scolded me on Tuesday and gleefully eaten my grain offerings this morning (with many a happy chirp)would consider us mad, the way we dissociate ourselves from our Mother.
Or encase Her in concrete and steel. Or subject Her to continual ploughing, pesticiding and draining of Her nutrients. Or, for that matter, ignore Her completely.
I know that I spent the greater part of my life in the dull-witted paradigm in which only humans matter, have value and can think, feel or create. What a crock of shit. Unfortunately for all of us, it’s the same paradigm that the majority of human animals live in, and with. Not so much a wanton cruelty as an almost wilful ignorance. It’s not to be excused, even in myself – well, especially not in myself.
How to hand the keys to freedom of being to other humans? I don’t know. It could be a gradual awakening, I suppose – but we’ve not got time for that. It may have to be a shocked rousing from slumber.
In the meantime, I’ll try to go easy on the female stompers. It’s also not really fair on the rhino.