One Man & His Dog

Go for a walk in the wilds of Connemara anything to escape the artistic tensions of poets & publishers Jungian & Yoga teachers sharing a summer cottage together not realising the clash of egos that would be released. Atomic. Ostensibly I am gone to pick mushrooms. I begin to run become the wind take off my awkward city shores run with them in my hand then my awkward one by one city clothes these but the human trappings of civilisation clutched tightly flapping in my paw. I all animal now run naked as the wind along the towering thundering Cliffs of Moher the sea crashing 600ft below. Next stop America! Across the Atlantical Ocean a thunderstorm (by Jove!) pitches its might against my puny naked humanness. I a Lear-like “poor forked animal.” I run screaming into its madness THE TEMPEST’s “Then... ...to the elements... be free! ” Believing there is not another soul in this God forsaken world this moonscape of a wasteland I run faster trying to escape my self leave my self behind whereupon I am shocked (in a lightning flash) to encounter (as an astronaut would be on the moon) an old farmer out walking his dog. Tips his hat to me politely. “Nice day for it! ” is all he says. My bare behind leaving them far behind as I run run like the wind naked along the Cliffs of Moher into the embrace of the storm listening only to what the Thunder said: ”Shanti.” “Shanti! ” “Shanti! ”