Muteness Still Shocks Me

Marcin Patrzalek (above) is a young Polish guitar protégé. I’ve watched a few of his videos on YouTube because I get such a thrill seeing young artists of genius.

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Yesterday afternoon, as Sheba and I walked across an open glade in the forest, I could smell the heat. 

On a day like yesterday, I feel intoxicated. Fulfilling, uplifting emotions surge, triggered by my sensory receptors. I see and hear beauty everywhere, and I feel it profoundly. I feel an emotion that I can’t name; it’s strong like an addict’s rush after shooting up. The beauty I see everywhere makes me deeply appreciate living here on this island, and I consider that I wouldn’t be here, were it not for my neurological crisis. More hits of the drug.

Jay arrived her to fetch me just before 11:00 and we went to the Firetruck food truck at Silva Bay for brunch. There were tables about, far apart. The sun came out as kids and dogs played, people were on blankets on the expansive lawn and my friends François, Eoin and Merrill all turned up fortheira mid-day snack at our new island food stop. And all with a view of the bay.

The food was fabulous. I’m going to be a frequent visitor. 

Regular readers may not believe this, but: It shocked me to find myself mute at the cashier. I had to gesture and point when I went alone to get us donut holes to share. I was unprepared. I had no pad and paper. 

Why was I so surprised? I reckon it’s because I can talk so well with my regulars: My fellow dog walkers, the clerks in local stores, the posties, people at the clinic, neighbours and strangers on the trails. And I can talk moderately well with my friends on the phone. And because I’m not mute with these people are they are almost the only people I see, I forget I become mute with strangers. 

I was truly shocked to be mute at the food truck. One step outside my neurological boundary, I’m mute, but I don’t know when I cross that boundary until I try to speak and can’t. I think I’m mute everywhere except at Pinecone Park.

Like a delusional denier or hopeless innocent, I sometimes close my eyes and take a few breaths, I lower my shoulders and straighten my back, I roll my head, left to right and back again, and then I take a deep breath and I try my hardest to talk. I keep hoping for a spontaneous miracle cure. But I can never talk when I’m alone. I can’t make a sound. (But I can talk to Fred, Ethel and Sheba.)