Updated: Apr 13, 2020
At this difficult time, SongPath explores how we can all stay connected for our collective mental health. We realise that the current climate can lead to feelings of disconnection, and exacerbate pre-existing psychological conditions.
We invite you to stay connected by creating your own mini-SongPaths each day, noticing something in your immediate surroundings, which acts as a gateway onto the SongPath & helps you feel connected. Perhaps go one step further, and find that your gateway has a soundtrack, a song or poem, a memory or a fictional association. Enjoy how playfully the mind can wander.
You could post this on social media using our hashtag or send to our email address, or simply enjoy the exercise for yourself. Text, recordings, images all welcome. Get creative: firstname.lastname@example.org
Let’s take Cumbrian poet, Norman Nicholson’s unassuming pot geranium as an example. Confined as a teenager to his room through illness, Norman feels trapped, held fast in a fist of anxiety: “thighs and spine are clamped to the mattress and looping springs twine round my chest and hold me.” He hears the other boys playing outside with a “box kite...a rag of dream” & feels the dreadful pain of exclusion work its way through his body. But then our young poet notices his rather unassuming pot geranium “in the warm corner of my dormer window.”
It “flies its bright balloon,...crimson” & Norman realises that “this crock of soil, six inch deep by four across, contains the pattern, the prod and pulse of life, complete as the Nile or the Niger.”
“And what need therefore to stretch for the straining kite? - for kite and flower bloom in my room for ever; the light that lifts them shines in my own eyes, and my body’s warmth hatches their red in my veins. It is the Gulf Stream that rains down the chimney, making the soot spit; it is the Trade Wind that blows in the draught under the bedroom door. My ways are circumscribed, confined as a limpet to one small radius of rock; yet I eat the equator, breathe the sky, and carry the great white sun in the dirt of my finger nails.”