Hedge Your Bets

My son’s 9th birthday and the myth of time

Father’s Words

“Son, you’re moving into this world and your old man ventures out of it”

Such were my words on my son's recent birthday.

In the grasp of this 2018 photograph, you see my son and I, aged 4 and 40yrs, respectively—a moment when purpose gleamed ahead for the two of us.

This photograph from 2018 captures a time when I felt I had shit to do!

Today there is more purpose about him and less for me (at ages 9 and 46yrs).

Not that I feel redundant or purposeless today, I’m just less inclined to feel the need to actively shape the world. Little did I know, I was nearing a threshold of transitioning from being in, and very much of, the world, to more simply being a part of it.

Happy Birthday Son 🎈

My disclosure about the pull of death wasn't the intended 'Happy Birthday!' sentiment I was going for, but some words have a life of their own, needing unbridled expression.

Thanks to his mother, the rest of his birthday was much more light-hearted.

He and his newly nine-year-old legs embarked on a pilgrimage to Harry Potter World, guided by his mother's gentle touch.✨

Thresholds of Life

Birthdays celebrate and invite acknowledgment of aging and maturation.

Aging isn't mere passage of time; it's a forging through life's thresholds and yet we’ve lost the initiation rites that guide this process.

Recognising parents' as people separate from our own trajectories marks a significant threshold.

Deliberately reflecting on our journey separates those who become old from those who become elders.

Are there true elders left?

Our politicians and thought leaders have lacked maturity for some time but even in our towns and villages, mature wisdom is scarce.

Yesterday in conversation, a middle-aged man shared his reluctance to visit his elderly mother, who teases him for his vegetarianism, offering Machiavellian meals that aggressively counter his choices.

What makes a wolf a wolf

Observing other species reveals our maturity—or lack thereof.

Dogs don't grow into wolves simply with age.

A mature dog doesn’t learn to hunt. Dogs remain cute, cared for by others.

Alas we have inner children that pull us into that place of wanting to be swallowed up by a deeply caring presence even if it means forgoing our own wise, wolf—like, mature presence in the world.

I’m a Barbie Girl in a Barbie World

Society undervalues play while perpetuating permanent adolescence. Mattel currently has 17 childhood toy movies in the works.

Longing for security is evident in our nostalgia.

Garden of Time - I’m Not Dead Yet

Not yet old, but old enough to look back, I see my labor's fruits growing. Most notable of which is a hedge I planted in my late adolescents.

Standing in my childhood home prompts reflections on time's passage.

In my late parents' garden, this thriving hedge stands.

Planted decades ago, a testament to my past.

At 16, I aimed to shape the world, planting a native hedgerow on instinct, even before I’d heard terms like ‘biodiversity’ or ‘keystone species’.

My late parent’s garden; Wet from the morning dew

My late parent’s garden; Wet from the mid-morning rain 😆

Divide & Conquer

We’ve planted hedges in the UK since at least the Bronze Age but have we grown into elders alongside them or did we get pot-bound somewhere along the way?

Half a million miles of hedgerow, once larders and medicine cabinets, now mark boundaries.

Symbolizing a shift from partnership to neurotic control.

Intrinsic Essence

My parents' house and garden remind me of their passing. The hedge remains.

Eternal Questions

Are you still striving or finally relaxing?

Relaxing into yourself but also relaxing into the nature of the world in all it’s seemingly chaotic mess.

What’s the importance? Even the cure for cancer lacks depth without humanity to contain it. If found, would it merely increase economic productivity?

Suffering persists like water, no end, only phases.

David

It seems unnecessary now, its purpose gone,

Though still we eat, sleep, struggle on Through non-eventful news,

No longer sad, amusing

As it was -

And all that's said and done seems blind,

Confused

Compared to this, sublimity, Refined.

It's better here at rest, in peace - Though negatives find entry, And winter coughing tells me The struggle hasn't ceased.

John Butler